The Unwanted Holmes
by A Girl With An Idea
Summary: Mycroft has learned something new: he is a father. When she appears face to face with him, the first thing he does is deny her existence. So being far away from home, she has to look for help. Was choosing her Uncle who happened to be a Sociopath a good idea? Or would that cause more havoc than she has already endured?
1. Chapter 1

This is my first fanfic, so be judgmental. I would like to know the truth.

* * *

Mycroft was sitting at his office desk, going through the CCTV of today, following every movement his younger brother made as he drank his afternoon brandy. Has this what his life had come to? Watching other people such as Sherlock fulfil their lives while his was stuck at pause. He knew Sherlock's work was of a dangerous type, which was why he did it. After all, he was his brother.

The date was the 21st July 2013. Sherlock and John had just finished a case which lasted a mere four days. The government started to increase taxes to help support the country. A bomb went off in Syria. It was just your typical news, your typical day, and for Mycroft, it was a typical day too much.

"Mr Holmes?"

Anthea knocked on the door two times before poking her head around the door. Mycroft signalled her to enter the room and state the reason why she was there. Anthea could tell that Mycroft was lacking sleeping time, but couldn't find the right time to point it out. As she lived her day to day life, she noticed he aged with time.

"There is a call on line 2 from a Miss Colman, would you like me to tell her you're busy?" she asked as she glanced towards the CCTV tapes. Mycroft slowly put down his half empty glass of brandy and told her he was willing to answer the phone. He hasn't heard of the name 'Colman' in almost 15 years. He remembered that Miss Colman used to be his old assistant, way before Anthea came into the picture. After 5 years of working with him, she announced that she was moving to Cambridge to escape the havoc of London. That was something he never understood. Never again did he think of hearing her name again. He signalled Anthea to go back to her desk as he finished his glass of brandy. He hesitated before picking up the phone.

"This is Mr Holmes."

"Is there any point in me saying my name?"

"Louise, this is...unexpected. What do I owe the pleas-"

"How have you been? I haven't heard from you in a while!"

Even though she was reluctant to let Mycroft finished, he answered her question. He told her little facts about work, Sherlock and the newer resident of 221B which happened to be John. He wanted to keep the answer short so she would get to the point.

"I can't believe that someone is actually willing to live with the psychopath"

Mycroft smirked at this comment as many people make this common error, says Sherlock. He says time and time again he is a sociopath and would like to remain one.

"Louise, it has been 15 years since I was in contact with you. And you choose today to show your...voice. I know that you never like to keep in contact unless something really important has come up, are you going to tell me what that is?"

He waited for a reply to leave the phone, but it took almost minutes before he got one.

"I have been lying to you Mycroft. Well not lying, just 'holding something back'. I should have told you when I left London, but I was...afraid."

This reply left Mycroft with many unanswered questions. He was not keen on admitting he cared for his close friends and relatives, especially for Louise, but this was a long time ago.

"Do you remember when we went to Oxford to visit an acquaintance of yours?" asked Louise.

Mycroft searched into the hard drive of his mind to find that certain day, and then it hit him. It was 24th August 1997 and both him and Louise went to go visit an old friend who owed him a favour. He can admit that there was, shall we say, a 'spark' between them.

"Yes, but I can only remember key details of that day. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you remember what happened that night?"

Mycroft paused. He did indeed remember that night, how could he forget? It was the night that both declared their feelings for each other and expressed their passion between them...physically. He started to tap rapidly on the desk with his ball point pen.

"Yes, I remember. Why? What does this have to do with present day?"

"Well, under the circumstances, it seems that on that very night, the night we shared our dormant love for each other. What I am trying to say is that, from what happened, it seems th-"

"Just. Tell. Me."

"Mycroft...you have a daughter."

Mycroft stopped his tapping and stared at the marks it left on the notepad. So many functions were happening to him, so much that he was unwilling to answer or even show any signs of emotion. A daughter. Mycroft Holmes has a daughter. There was anger building up inside of him as he put pressure on the grip of his pen.

"Her name is Elizabeth Colman and she is 15 years old. I have called you to tell you that...I don't think she is coping in Cambridge. She is quite a nuisance towards the teachers and student, I know what I am about to ask from you is too much, but it would rea-"

"How could you not tell me I had a daughter?"

He was at the point where all his anger leads him to standing up and applying a fist towards the table. He could hear tiny whispers coming from the other side of the door.

"Please Mycroft; this is about our child for god sakes, not about me. Just let me finish what I have to tell you."

He sat back down on his leather chair and put the phone on speaker phone as he rested his head in his hands.

"I know what I am about to ask is too much, but it would really help. Since I can find no bond whatsoever between me and her, I would like her to spend a couple of months in London...with you"

Mycroft thought about the offer and hesitated before he answered.

"I'll see what I can do"

Without warning, he put the phone back in the socket, cutting off the talk between them. As he did this, Anthea walked into the office with a phonebook and diary in hand.

"I guess you heard and the answer is no. Don't cancel any of my appointments. I will not have that child in my house."

"Mr Holmes, to be honest I think your overreacting. That woman sounded like she needed you. Are you really going to let her down like that?"

She didn't get an answer at first, but she waited for a length of time before she heard words leave his lips.

"Louise lied to me. She kept my daughter a secret. Why should I help her? She doesn't deserve it. I have lost all my love for her and will not gain any relationship with 'Elizabeth'. I don't want to see any of them in my life ever again. Now please Anthea would you leave my office, your letting a draft in"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She is his daughter. She is a Holmes. Anthea wasn't going to have any of this...not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry Elizabeth, but this is for your own good. You know how much you have irritated everyone in that school. I am not putting up with it anymore. You are going to London to live with your father and he is willing to accept you"

To Elizabeth, it was like her own mother was disowning her and giving her away to a 'Mycroft Holmes' as if she was an unwanted object. But she had to admit that there was nothing left for her in Cambridge, nothing at all. She had no friends during her childhood and most of her teenage life. London could be a fresh start for her, a chance to clear her life of the dark clouds. In the end she accepted the offer.

"When does he pick me up?"

"Tomorrow morning. Elizabeth, I am so sorry. Forgive me"

Her mother broke down in tears in front of her and all she could was grab her hand, with her mother replying to her gesture by squeezing her palm. She has lived with her mother for 15 years and is about to move in with her father who she has known for only minutes.

She left her mother to gather her senses and returned to her sanctuary, to others it was known as her bedroom. Gathering all of her cherished possessions and a change in clothing, she stuffed her bag so much that the zipper was starting to separate with the opposite side, but left out her laptop.

She decided to Google her father's name to get a bit more information so that she is prepared. She typed in 'Mycroft Holmes' into the search bar and got as little as two results. Instead, she deleted the first name and was left with 'Holmes' to search. The results were far more interesting. The first website was a blog called: The Science of Deduction. As she read through each post, she was fascinated by someone called Sherlock Holmes intelligence. This lead to a person called John Watson, who also had a bold which described Sherlock's cases. She was mind blown. She had so many questions_. How is my father connected with Sherlock? How is Sherlock connected with John?_

Elizabeth closed the laptop and packed it into the little space she had left in her bag. She needed to feel refreshed and presentable if she was going to meet this estranged man.

It was 8 o'clock in the morning when she woke from her slumber. Rubbing her eyes gently, she climbed out of the bed and got ready into the most formal clothes she had. After all, she wanted to make a good impression. Her hair was wrapped in a neat bun and her body was covered in a black dress with black heels. When she looked in the mirror, she analysed every single angle of her anatomy. She thought to herself: _Did she have his eyes? His hair? His personality? _

It was 9 o'clock in the morning when she walked down the stairs. As she lunged her bag towards the couch, the silence of the house was ruined by a knock at the door. Her mother appeared at the doorway from the kitchen, signalling Elizabeth to answer the door. She walked slowly towards the door, thinking about the conversation she would have with the person behind it.

It one sudden movement she opened the door as fast as she can to find herself in a vision of a woman, not a man, a woman.

"Who are you?" asked my mother as she appeared by my side.

"My name is Anthea. Elizabeth, I work with your father. Unfortunately, he was too busy to come to Cambridge and sent me to collect you. I am sorry if you planned a happy reunion"

As she spoke those words, she never looked up to face me. Instead, she was typing away at her blackberry as if it was a stress ball to her. Louise understood that Mycroft was a very busy man and noticed the car she used to drive in when she was an assistant. She didn't argue back. She trusted this woman on her doorstep

"Elizabeth-"Louise's eyes were flooded with tears as she grabbed her daughters shoulders "I want you to know that I love you. Oh so much, and I want you to promise me that you will be safe and accept everyone around you. Understand?"

Elizabeth couldn't find any words and only replied with a simple nod. She embraced the surprise hug from her mother, her mother has been strong, looking after a child on her own. She saved her mother the tears and grabbed her bags and made her way towards the car. As Anthea and Elizabeth settled into their seats, the driver started to put pressure on the pedal as the car made a forward movement. Elizabeth always hates goodbyes.

"Now I have to ask a favour from you Miss Holmes" she said as she passed over a fresh swab "Mycroft is still unsure about the information of the situation and would like me to get-"

"DNA tests, he wants me to do a DNA test. He doesn't believe that I am his daughter?"

This really hit Elizabeth hard. After finding out moving was the best option her mother could think of, she finds out that her father already doubts their family bond. But, it couldn't hurt to be sure. So Elizabeth accepted the swab and gave the DNA to Anthea.

"Your father only found out he had a child the same day as you found out. And the one thing you should know is that your father's side of the family are a dangerous group indeed. You need to prepare yourself" This time Anthea looked up to meet the teenager's eyes and that was when she knew. Elizabeth would be staying for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, you work with my dad?" asked Elizabeth, hoping to start a conversation. "What is he like?"

"He isn't the easiest person to work with. I have been working for him for 4 years. But eventually, you fall into this system he has,"

Two hours later, they arrived outside a building which was labelled 'The _Diogenes Club', just before it started to rain. _

_"What is the Diogenes Club?" Elizabeth asked._

_"This-"said Anthea while opening the boot of the car to get the luggage, "-is a place where men can go without any distractions. The one rule you must know about this place is that you mustn't talk. I know, it's a ridiculous rule, but that is the whole purpose,"_

Without asking any more questions, they walked towards the door. They were greeted by a man already waiting for their arrival. When they proceeded into the hallway, Elizabeth could see an open room which was occupied by men who looked in their early 50's reading the Daily Mail.

Both women proceeded to walk down the corridor, not saying a word to each other. After a couple of minutes, they reached a door that was branded with the words: Mycroft Holmes.

"Wait here," said Anthea as she opened the door to the office.

It was 3o'clock in the afternoon. This was the time when he ordered everyone in the office not to disturb him or to forward calls to him. This routine was interrupted when Anthea walked into the room with paperwork in her hand.

"Anthea, you know what time this is?"

Ignoring his question, she said "I know that you deny your daughters existence-"

"We must not speak of her again," She could tell that Mycroft was losing his patience with her.

"But you can't just turn away from her. Where is the decency in that?"

"Anthea, you showed up an hour late for work to come barging into my office with this nonsense. What have you done?" Mycroft had a look of distraught on his face, he thought of all the conclusions he could think of and came to one which he didn't want to believe.

"Elizabeth is outside of that door, isn't she?"

Anthea didn't have to answer that question, the only thing she could do was leave the room to go talk with Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth?"

Anthea came back out of the office and walked over to the teenager who was sitting on the ledge of a radiator.

"You can go inside now,"

Elizabeth didn't want to move from the position she was in now, she wanted to stay there. But she wanted to see him, she was filled with questions. Slowly but surely, she walked towards the door and opened it slowly. There, she was greeted by a man who looked in his 40's, had brown hair and looked very presentable. He held an umbrella in his hand, which he used to lean himself on.

Mycroft was faced with a teenager who looked around 15 years of age. She had brown hair that swooped past her shoulders. She wasn't dressed in stereotypical teenage clothing, but instead something formal. She had grey eyes, which he understood could have been from his mother's characteristics_. _He thought to himself:_ What was he thinking? He can't be a dad. This wasn't his daughter! They don't look...anything alike._

"You must be Elizabeth, you already know who I am" He held out his hand for her to receive, but she didn't take it.

"That's the thing, do I know you? Because apparently, you have doubts that I am your daughter"

"You must understand that this came as a shock to me. I only did what-"

"Anthea also told me what you said about me and my mother. That you don't have any love for us, is this true or not?" Elizabeth's hands were shaped into a fist as she spoke those words of hate "You don't love us. You don't love me. You don't love my mum. You have us. You don't care for u-"

"I just don't believe that you are my daughter. All I see in front of me is an imposter," Even Mycroft agreed that was a bit out of exceptional. He could see a liquid residue escape from her eyes and her capture for breath shortened.

"**I HATE YOU! How could you say that? Why am I even here then? Why couldn't you just leave me alone!"**

Elizabeth ran out of the building as fast as she can to escape the god forsaken place. She ran out of the building, remembering that she forgotten her luggage. She was on her own in the heart of London: she had no idea where to go after that incident.

"Elizabeth! Come back!" Elizabeth turned her head slightly to see Anthea quick walking behind her. She reached the end of the street to find an available taxi on the side of the road. By now it was pouring with rain and her mascara was starting to show. When she reached the taxi, she knocked furiously on the driver's window to let him know she was there.

"Where will it be?"

That was the problem, where could she go? She doesn't know anyone here.

"Hello? I said where will it be?"

That was when Elizabeth caught a glimpse at newspaper which lay on the passenger seat next to her. The font cover showed a man with curly, raven hair and grey eyes which she could clearly recognise was hers. She came to the conclusion that this Sherlock man was related to her in a way. She lifted up the newspaper and showed him the photo behind the glass that separated them.

"Do you know this man?" asked Elizabeth as she pointed at the picture "If so, do you know where he lives?"

"Oh, that's Sherlock Holmes, the one who 'faked' his suicide three years ago, just appeared out of nowhere yesterday. I think he lives at 221B Baker Street. Is that the place you want to go to?"

"Yes, and be fast about it,"


	4. Chapter 4

I would like to first thank everyone for their feedback, I am trying to improve my writing with your help. So thanks again.

* * *

The rain started to come down more violently as she looked out the window. She had never been to London before, so this was a whole new experience for her. Watching the weather started to get boring, so she decided to pick up the newspaper that sat nest to her and read the front page.

* * *

Headline: Sherlock Returns

Text: On the 21st July 2013, the psychopathic Sleuth known as Sherlock Holmes returns back to London after his "suicide" just 3 years ago. Many reporters and news teams wait outside the detectives flat in the heart of London, where he shares his flat with the still bachelor John Watson. Continue page 6 for more details.

* * *

"Psychopathic sleuth?" she thought. This made Elizabeth regret choosing this man as her last resort. From what the papers say, he sounded like a crazy person. But it was too late to turn back now. This man could be her last chance.

They were about to approach 221B, but were stopped by a large traffic jam that stretched throughout the street. "If this is London at its finest," thought Elizabeth "Then what is it like at its worst?"

"I am afraid that Baker Street has been blocked off from all of the news vans clogging the street. This is as far as I can take you." said the taxi driver.

As Elizabeth was about to open the door, the taxi driver locked the doors and reminded her that she still needed to pay. Elizabeth forgot about that.

"I am so sorry, I haven't got any money." Elizabeth was starting to panic, but the taxi driver said something took her by surprise.

"That's okay," he said as he unlocked the doors "It wasn't that much of a journey."

"I can't accept your offer."

"I assure you, it's no problem."

"Thank you very much. You don't know how much that means to me." said Elizabeth as she left the taxi. To Elizabeth, that was unusual and out of character for a taxi driver, but she took his offer. She walked down the street to the corner to find that many journalists and camera crews were outside of the flat. Some were taking pictures and some were doing a live report about it. As she continued down the street, she heard many people say the same name over and over again.

"Sherlock Holmes had-"

"Sherlock Holmes faked his-"

"We are outside Sherlock Holmes's flat-"

It was obvious to Elizabeth that this man was very popular, before and after his suicide. Elizabeth made her way into the crowd of impatient journalists so she could get to the door. Many people were telling her to get to the back of the queue, but she wasn't going to listen to them.

"Let me through!" said Elizabeth as she pushed past a woman who was writing notes.

"Do you live here?" the woman asked.

"Not really," said Elizabeth as she stopped mid-step.

"Then move aside and let the professionals handle this." The woman's comment got many laughs from other reporters. Elizabeth stopped to turn and face the reporter. She was shorter than Elizabeth and had fair, red hair. She was dressed in formal, work clothes that had a number of rain drops on her shoulders, where her umbrella couldn't protect her.

"What is your name?" asked Elizabeth as she glared at the woman.

"Miss Riley."

"Miss Riley, I suggest that you do something better with your life instead of reporting about others!" said Elizabeth as she stormed away from the woman, leaving a trail of whispers and laughter behind her.

When she reached the door, she knocked on it a number of times, until someone would answer it.

* * *

"How many people are outside?" John asked himself as he looked through the window onto the streets "This is your fault you know."

"How can it be my fault?" asked Sherlock as he conducted his latest experiment "Tell me your theory."

"Well-"John stopped to drink his cup of tea "If you hadn't commit suicide three years ago we wouldn't have these people outside our flat. We would be living out normal lives day in and day out."

"Think about it John. When have we ever had normal lives? If we tried, it would only be tiresome and life would be miserable. Do you want a tedious life?"

"It would be nice once in a while."

"Then I cannot help you in that situation."

John made his way into the kitchen, but was stopped by a loud banging from the downstairs door. Sherlock could see that John was starting to get more irritated throughout this whole ordeal.

"I am not answering the door." said Sherlock as he made his way towards the window.

"Me neither." said John as he stood at the other window.

Both men turned to face each other. This was a moment where they would have a battle of the stares. In this case, whoever would win would not answer the door.

"Fine!" said John as he made his way downstairs. When he opened the door, he was greeted by flashing lights and journalists shouting repeated questions.

"For the last time: I AM NOT GAY!"

"Mr Watson?"

John could see a girl slowly walk up to him. Her mascara was smudged at the side of her eyes and her clothes were soaked from the rain.

"I am here to see a Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can assure you that it is important business and that I am not a journalist."

John felt sorry for the girl at the doorstep and decided to let her in.

"A teenager couldn't possibly do any damage." he thought.

"Sorry about that," said John as he closed the door "It has been a hectic two days."

"I know what you mean."

Elizabeth noticed that he was using a walking stick to move around, and was struggling using it.

"Is your leg all right?" she asked as they both headed up the stairs.

"Yeah, don't worry. It has been worse before."

"Before?"

"Yeah, I was shot and had to use a walking stick for a while."

"In Afghanistan? Were you shot in Afghanistan?"

Both stopped at the middle of the stairs to face each other.

"How did you know?" asked John as he looked at the girl with fear in his eyes.

"I do my research." she replied with a cunning smirk on her face.

"Right then." said John as he continued up the stairs with Elizabeth following behind.

When they both entered the flat, they noticed a smell coming from what appeared to be the kitchen. John ran to the kitchen to find a rotting body part in a beaker filled with an unknown acid. This odd mixture produced a horrific stench of death, which made Elizabeth dizzy with sickness.

* * *

She noticed that the older man was cursing quite loudly as he poured the liquid into the sink. She decided to make a move and leave the flat as fast as she can, but she was stopped by someone at the doorway. This shock leads her to fall on the floor and stare up at the man.

"John that experiment was going rather well. Why did you ruin it?" the man asked as he held out a hand for her to be pulled up.

"This has to be the worst thing you have ever done." said John as he chucked the body part in a black plastic bag.

"Are we forgetting the incident from three years ago?"

"Correction," John said as he scrubbed his hands with a sponge "This is the second worst thing you have ever done."

"That's what I thought," said Sherlock as he chucked his coat on a nearby chair "And aren't you going to introduce us?"

"This is-"John walked towards Elizabeth and Sherlock with a cloth in his hand "I don't really know to be honest. Who are you?"

"My name is Elizabeth Colman," said Elizabeth as she looked towards the ground "and I am the daughter of Mycroft Hol-"

It was that moment in time when Elizabeth fainted from the stench, leaving the two men at a cliffhanger.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry that I haven't updated in a while, I haven't found time to do it...but here it is now :)

* * *

"Sherlock!" said John as he checked the girl's pulse "What is she talking about?"

"I haven't got the slightest clue. Don't worry about her pulse, I think she just fainted from the experiment."

John turned to face Sherlock, who was calm throughout the whole situation. He couldn't understand how Sherlock could be mellow after finding out he might be an uncle.

"What are we going to do?" asked John as he rubbed his right hand behind his neck. John was so stressed out, which caused the back of his neck to turn into a darker shade of red. He was right; the last two days had been hectic from him. He didn't need all of this drama.

Without answering his question, Sherlock picked up Elizabeth and held her in his arms. He then proceeded to walk to his bedroom, with John slowly walking behind him. John rushed forward to open the door for Sherlock, so he could lay Elizabeth down on the bed with one quick movement. Both men looked down on the fragile body which lay in the middle of the bed.

"Shut up." said Sherlock as he paced back and forth in the bedroom.

"I didn't say anything. "

"You're thinking. It's annoying."

While Sherlock was contemplating this girls identity, John sat down at the side of the bed to check her pulse for a second time.

"You think she's Mycroft's daughter?" asked John as he brushed her hair from the front of her face.

"Colman."

"Colman," said John as he rested his elbows on his knees, bringing together his hands "That was useful Sherlock, care to elaborate?"

"Colman was the surname of Mycroft's assistant a couple of years ago."

"Do you think Mycroft and her are related?"

"There is a possibility." said Sherlock as he joined John at the side of the bed.

* * *

John remembered back to yesterday's drama. He was a broken man from the war, and a broken man from the fall. It had affected his life like the clouds covering the sky. One minute, he would live his everyday life. The rest of the time he would be curled up on his armchair, thinking about what Sherlock said before he...jumped. He hated the effect Sherlock's death had on him.

When John woke up yesterday, he heard a sound coming from the kitchen. He thought that it would be Mrs Hudson, but then he remembered her telling him that she would be gone from the morning until late this night. Slowly, John grabbed his gun and filled it with two bullets. He walked downstairs, trying not to make any sounds from the floorboards. When he reached the hallway outside the living room, he saw that there were no lights on in the living room, but a slight flicker of light coming from the corner. When he opened the door, he saw the man he had been crying over for the past three years. The man, who fixed and broke his heart, was sat at the table on John's computer. Sherlock Holmes was sat at the table, as if nothing had happened. This visual image in front of him made John's blood boil; it was as if Sherlock was there all along.

"Good Morning," Sherlock said "You still kept the same password for three years?"

John didn't say anything, what was there to say. John thought that he was going mental, that his mind was playing insensitive tricks on him. Instead of replying to Sherlock's question, he marched towards the sleuth and grabbed the man by his shoulders.

"THREE YEARS!" shouted John as he lifted Sherlock off his seat "THREE BLOODY YEARS OF HELL!"

"John, I can explain-"Sherlock's sentence was cut off by a tight fist coming into contact with the right side of his face, causing a scar to appear just above his cheekbone.

"HOW DARE YOU!"

"JOHN, LET ME EXPLAIN!"

"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE'S FEELINGS, DO YOU?"

"STOP SHOUTING!"

"YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE PRAT!"

This constant bickering went on for, what seemed ages. To make matters worse, Mrs Turner next door reported a "domestic" to the police. When the police arrived, this only caused more quarrelling.

"Sherlock?" said Lestrade as he barged in to the apartment with the rest of the team. Not only was Lestrade there, but also Donovan and Anderson. Both cursing out loud, knowing that their torture returns.

"Lestrade, I have my reasons-"Again, Sherlock's sentence was cut short by Lestrade punching him in his chest, which caused Sherlock to fall to the floor.

"THREE YEARS!"

"AGAIN, I CAN EXPLAIN!"

"YOU INCONSIDERATE-"

The whole room fell silent as John entered the room with a first aid kit. It was as if the whole room had just witnessed a murder right before their very own eyes. Everyone thought John would react the most violently towards him, but he surprised everyone, even himself. Slowly, with pain still in John's leg, he knelt beside Sherlock and applied a cold pack on his scar.

"Sherlock Holmes," said John as he raised himself from the floor "You have a lot of explaining to do."

* * *

Yes, the whole ordeal of yesterday was perfect for the memory album of his mind. But that was the point, Sherlock was alive. John's thought was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He reached for his pocket and took out his phone to view his messages. It was from Sarah.

**John, I know you're busy, but we are running short of staff. Can you come in for a couple of hours?**

John thought to himself the pros and cons of replying yes. If he says yes, that means leaving Sherlock alone to do experiments. Sherlock might even repeat the experiment from today, and John didn't want that. But if he doesn't reply yes, then that leaves Sarah with stress on her shoulders. This wasn't the nicest thing to do to Sarah. Sarah was there for him during them three years, when no one else was.

**I'm on my way. I need some fresh air anyway. -JW**

"That was Sarah," said John as he got off the bed "She needs someone to help her at work."

"I understand."

"Will you be alright here, with Elizabeth?"

"John, if I am capable of handling toxic liquids and body parts," said Sherlock as he stood up to stand next to John "Then I am capable of looking after a teenager."

"You can't even look after yourself. Just don't freak her out; we don't want her fainting again."

And with that, John left Sherlock with his thoughts.

* * *

Sherlock slowly paced around the bed, quietly and carefully observing the girl in front of him. He tried to deduce everything he could about her, from head to toe.

Sherlock thought to himself "Formal clothes suggest that it was a formal event...to her. Bite marks shown on her newly polished nails shows a sign of anxiety. Scrapes on the back of her heels suggest that she was running from or to something," He felt underneath her shoes and found what he was looking for "She would never wear shoes like these every day, they are brand new. You can still feel the price tag sticker where it used to be, "He went to look at the back of her legs, just above her ankles, and used the information from his and John's first case.

"Splatters of mud on her leg show that she was carrying a suitcase, a large suitcase on that matter. She was intending to stay in London for a long period of time. The only question, was how long?"

Sherlock got quite enough information, for now. He thought about what he could do while John was at work. He could call Lestrade, but was he going to get verbal abuse from him again, now that was the question. He walked towards the door frame and looked at Elizabeth one last time.

He noticed that her hair, nose and face shape was from Louise. But it was her eyes and mouth that made him think, they were just like his mothers, and his own.


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth woke up to the sound of the front door closing. She slowly raised the top half of her body so that she was sitting up. Looking around her, she noticed that she had been placed in what seemed to be Sherlock's bedroom. She didn't know if she was on her own in the flat, so she decided to get up off the bed and go exploring.

She still felt light headed after fainting earlier, remembering back to it made her cringe with embarrassment. When she reached the hallway, she tried to find any sound coming from the living room; she couldn't. While placing her hand on the door frame, she swirled her head around it to find that the flat was indeed empty. The flat was more different from when she saw it hours ago; it was, in fact, messier. Papers and books were scattered around the floor, so much that you couldn't see the floorboards underneath them. One of Elizabeth's traits, in her mother's words, was a "neat freak". Without thinking, she crouched down onto the floor and picked up all of the books and put them back on the shelves. She gathered up all of the papers and stacked them on the desk near the window. Most of the papers she found were compositions with a majority of the notes scribbled out, but didn't know if they were John's or Sherlock's. That was when she noticed a violin that sat at the edge of the table. She had been playing the violin for 6 years. She loved how the violin could produce unique notes that could be formed into a beautiful masterpiece. She brushed her hands along the strings of the violin and grabbed the neck of it. She then decided to look through all of the compositions that were stacked on the table until she found one which looked easy enough to play.

"Just one song," thought Elizabeth "I just hope they don't freak out."

* * *

**Elizabeth's at the flat. –SH**

**I know. –MH**

**DNA test? –SH**

He didn't know why he had to text that, it was perfectly obvious to him that she was a Holmes. The problem was getting the information into Mycroft's thick skull.

**Already sent off. Should find out in 36 hours. –MH**

**So where would she stay? –SH**

**She can't stay with me. Well, not right now. –MH**

**You think she should just stay at the flat, don't you? –SH**

**Just until she is settled. –MH**

Sherlock gave a loud sigh which made Lestrade turn his head. He was suppose to be examining the body, but was too caught up in a family situation.

"Found anything?" asked Lestrade as he walked towards Sherlock and the corpse beneath them.

"I can't think when I am being disturbed," said Sherlock as he tapped 'Compose New Message', "You of all people should know that."

"I just need to know who it is, that's all."

**How long would she stay? –SH**

"You are looking for a male in his early 30's. I remember having a couple of cases which were similar to this one. The cause of death, the age of the victim, the gender, hair colour; all the same. So I have a feeling we have a serial killer on our hands. Her cause of death wasn't a stab wound; it was poison, just like the other victims." Said Sherlock as he kept tapping 'Refresh' in his message inbox.

"How do you know its poison?"

Just then, Sherlock felt the phone vibrate in his hand, to indicate a new text message.

**A month at least. It's the least you can do for me after the 'incident' a couple of years ago. -MH**

"Eyes have turned into a brighter colour and there is a slight trace of foam on the inside of her mouth. Her tongue still has traces of powder on it. Send the powder to the lab and text me the results." said Sherlock as he walked away from the crime scene.

"Okay and Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned around to face Lestrade with a turn of his heels.

"Good to have you back." Said Lestrade as he walked up to Sgt Donovan with the powder substance.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the comment. It was great to be back. Yes, travelling around the world opened up different experiences for him, but a serial killer could beat all that any day. Looking down at his phone, he opened the text Mycroft sent him. He stared at the screen until he could decide his answer. A month was a long time. He knew teenagers got just as bored as he did. Where would she sleep? What would she eat? John rarely cooked and to Sherlock, it was like a different language.

**I'll think about it –SH**

* * *

**Has she woken up yet? –JW**

**I don't know. –SH**

**What do you mean? –JW**

**I am not at the flat; I am on my way there now. –SH**

**WHAT? –JW**

**Lestrade had a case, I couldn't refuse. –SH**

**GET BACK TO THE FLAT. I'LL MEET YOU THERE. –JW**

* * *

"There is no need to panic," said Sherlock as he walked out of the taxi while throwing a couple of notes in the passenger seat. He saw John walk up the road to meet him "I think a teenager is capable of looking after themselves."

"Just get in the flat," Was all John said "But go in quietly. She could still be asleep."

Sherlock walked towards the door and put his keys into the lock, and turned it to the left. It was now 6 o'clock in the evening. Both men had been out of the flat for 6 hours.

Both Sherlock and John walked into the hallway of the apartment, ready to face whatever what was upstairs. John was about to walk up the stairs when he was stopped by Sherlock's arm blocking his way. Instead of hearing silence, which was what they were hoping, they heard a soft tune coming from the living room. Sherlock's eyes widened as he realised that it was his violin that was being played with. He never let anyone touch because a) he thought people would break it and b) no one would have the talent to produce beautiful music like he did. But this was different; the music he could hear was like harmony to his ears. The music both men could hear was divine.


	7. Chapter 7

Time passed as Elizabeth got lost in her own performance. The music sent vibes down her whole body. As she closed her eyes, she could picture all of the musical notes flowing rhythmically together, following a continuous pattern. The violin was always a soft spot for her; it had a special place in her heart which could only be opened by the finest of tunes.

"The Woman."

This sudden comment made Elizabeth jump and lose her place in the composition. It was none other than Sherlock and John, who were staring at her beside the door with utter shock. She didn't know if they were shocked that the house was clean or that she was playing the violin.

"I'm sorry?" asked Elizabeth as she lay down the violin on the table.

"The woman; that's the name of the composition."

Elizabeth smiled "So you created this piece?"

"Yes."

Elizabeth's smile turned into pure sadness "It's a sad song. Was it about someone you loved?"

"Why do you assume that?" said Sherlock as walked towards the table to grab the sheet of music from her hands.

"Since it's called 'The Woman', it's obviously about a woman. I don't think it was meant for a family member. I have seen many pieces of music in my life; some about love, hate, death, happiness and many more. Your composition sounds far too passionate and heartbreaking for it to be about a family member. So it could only be about somebody you loved, or admired. Judging by the pressure of your pen marks and the notes that have been crossed out, you had trouble composing this. So you must have been questioning your relationship with the woman, so you didn't know what notes to write."

Nobody said anything for a minute. Elizabeth felt like she had just invaded Sherlock's privacy, which she didn't want to do. After her second encounter with the two men, she didn't want to come across as a nosy teenager who should mind her own business. Luckily, John broke the silence with words she didn't expect to hear.

"Fantastic." Said John as he grabbed the sheet of music from Sherlock's hands "You got all that from a piece of music?"  
"You have to actually play the piece of music to understand its values and meanings. And sorry about me cleaning up your house, it felt abnormal with all of the papers and books lying all over the place."

"No, thank YOU," both John and Elizabeth were staring at Sherlock, who was still unresponsive "Sherlock?"

Everybody was cut short by John's phone vibrating in his pocket signalling a message had been received.

**Another body was found at Linhope Street, can you get Sherlock over here? –GL**

**Sure. –JW**

"Another body found at Linhope Street," said John as he fastened his coat once again "He wants you there."

"We can't leave her here John." Said Sherlock as he grabbed his scarf from the back of the chair.

"I can come with you!" blurted out Elizabeth "I swear I won't be of any trouble."

John looked at Sherlock "Would she be allowed?"

Sherlock looked at the teenager who was still in the same clothes she wore this morning.

"Don't see why not." Was all he could say.

Elizabeth made a quick dash for the door "What are you waiting for?" she said as she ran down the stairs.

"She's a bit eager, isn't she?" said John as he followed behind her.

Sherlock was lost for words, which was out of character. He would have corrected Elizabeth's deductions, but he couldn't. She knew exactly what she was talking about. He followed John down the stairs to find that both John and Elizabeth were waiting in a taxi.

"Weird." Said John.

"Weird?" asked Elizabeth.

"Sherlock seems lost."  
"What's wrong with that?"

"Sherlock is never lost."

Linhope Street was only a ten minute drive, but in those ten minutes, no one said a word. Not even Sherlock, who would update John with the case. Sherlock and John looked on their sides of the window with Elizabeth staring ahead.

When they reached the crime scene, they could see yet again, a crowd of journalists behind a yellow line which stopped them from entering the crime scene. When one journalist caught a glimpse of Sherlock, everyone caught sight of him. Soon enough, flashing lights surrounded the taxi. Elizabeth just stared at the floor beneath her, avoiding the camera's capture.

All three jumped out of the taxi to avoid answering any questions. When John finished paying the taxi driver, they headed towards Sgt Donovan who was guarding the yellow barrier.

"Donovan." Said Sherlock.

"Freak." She replied as she held up the yellow tape "Is she with you?"

"Yes."

"Poor thing."

"Thing?!" asked Elizabeth. Anything could make Elizabeth fill with rage; the weather, insults, conversation, the news, journalists.

"Not now." Said Sherlock as he pushed her back, making her move forward much faster.

Lestrade could see Sherlock and John move towards him, but he didn't recognise the other figure in-between them.

"The same features as the victim this morning," said Lestrade "Who's this?"

"Elizabeth Colman." Said Elizabeth as she held out her hand for Lestrade to accept; he did.

"Sherlock, we can't let her in. She isn't old enough."

"If she is not allowed in, then I won't look at the body or any other bodies that may follow." Said Sherlock.

It didn't take long for Lestrade to answer. "Make sure she doesn't mess up the crime scene."

Elizabeth was the first to dash off to the body, shortly followed by Sherlock. John was the last person, since he still had his walking stick.

"What do you think?" asked Sherlock as he stared at Elizabeth in front of him.

"Me?" asked Elizabeth as she pointed to herself.

"Sherlock, we can't mess around. "Said John as he caught up behind them.

"Who said we were messing around?" said Sherlock "Well?"

"So you want my opinion?"

"I thought that was obvious."

Elizabeth walked over to the body and circled around her.

"Well-"


	8. Chapter 8

**I am really sorry that it took long to update, I had a hard time trying to sort out the next few chapters and how they would tie together.**

* * *

Elizabeth looked at her surroundings and tried to gather up as much information as she could. She wouldn't call herself the observant type, but she would say that she could "catch on" rather quickly. The living room was compact in such a large house, but with the nature coloured furniture and ornaments which were scattered around the room, it looked quite comfortable. The victim lay in front of the back garden door which was left untouched. However, the curtains had been pulled off from above the door, showing a couple of rips here and there. The victim was a woman in her early 40s with brown hair which covered her shoulders. Elizabeth went into the hallway to see that the cellar door had been broken in from the inside, which gave her plenty to talk about. She saw many muddy footprints which lead to the living room and behind the living room door.

"Does this have anything to do with the serial killer in the papers?" asked Elizabeth.

"Well, the victim matches the features of the others. Each one murdered within 65 miles of where we are now, so we can't really say that the location is a factor." Replied Lestrade as he gave her a set of latex gloves "If you want to examine anything you need to wear these."

She accepted the gloves and put them on as she walked around the living room. "Sorry If I am taking too long, it's just a lot to take in." Said Elizabeth.

"As long as you can help, it's no problem."

"When was the time of death?"

"About 10am this morning, but it wasn't reported until just recently."

Elizabeth knelt on the floor beside a couple of the muddy footprints and ran her finger through the middle of it. There were some wet prints and some dry prints.

"The murderer broke into the flat at least 9 hours ago, the time when it wasn't raining yet, which explains the dry footprints. They are a size 10 by the way. That meant the murderer knew who they were targeting. He broke into the flat through-"

"I'm sorry, he?" said John as he stood beside her.

"Yes, the murderer was a man. The cellar door has three locks on it, but somehow they managed to break through the door without actually damaging it, so they would have had a lot of strength. Did you find anything and use it as evidence?"

"There was a picture of a victim from 1pm this afternoon, before she was dead."

"So he murdered two in one day?"

"We think so. Is she related to you in any way Sherlock?"

"By Blood, yes."

"Well, the man waited behind the door for her to get home and when she did, she didn't notice the cellar door because she walked into the living room straight away. The living room was dark because of the curtains so she didn't see the footprints. She went to open the curtains and that was when he chooses to attack. He grabbed her just as she grabbed onto the curtains. The bruise around her mouth shows where he put his hand. Traces of poison around her lips show that the poison was force fed to her, which caused her death. And, that's about it really. That is all I have got." said Elizabeth, while taking a quick gasp for breath.

She turned around to face the four men behind her. She noticed that another man had joined them while she was talking.

"God, not another freak. It must run in the family." Was all the man said.

This really hit Elizabeth in the guts. She had never been called a horrid name by an adult before, which she found was horrific.

"I'm sorry, HOW OLD ARE YOU?" asked Elizabeth. She wasn't having a quiet conversation with him; she wanted everyone to hear this. And everyone did, the man looked at her with pure disgust while the forensic team stopped what they were doing in the room.

"Elizabeth calm do-"said John as he held his hands up towards them both.

"EXCUSE ME?" asked the man.

"Anderson, just let it-"said Lestrade as he stepped beside John.

"Oh, is THAT your name is it; ANDERSON. HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A FREAK!"

Everyone was trying to calm the pair down, but Sherlock just stayed where he was, staring at only Elizabeth. She couldn't tell if he approved or disapproved what she was doing.

"I would expect that language from a person MY AGE!" Her face was glowing red as she clenched her fists together "NOT AN ADULT! What you're doing is bullying, and I HATE that. It's people like you that makes everyone else feel shit about themselves!"

"Eliza-"said John as he realised what she said.

"I'm sorry Mr Watson, but this man doesn't deserve a job like this if he is going to act like a child. You know, I'm glad it runs in the family, because at least I have a higher intelligence than you or your GIRLFRIEND put together." Said Elizabeth as she held her hand out towards Sgt Donovan.

"Girlfriend?!" said Anderson as he turned his head to look at Donovan.

"Wearing the same cologne. The glances you two make to each other. I even heard you two talk about "what happened last night" and that "you should do it again sometime". For a man who is married, you really do make me sick."

She didn't want to hear what they said, she just stormed out of their and waited for John and Sherlock to come back outside. She hated a lot of things lately: the weather, journalists, bullies...Anderson.

* * *

"I should go see how she is." Said John as he scurried past all of them.

"Text me if you find anything." Said Sherlock as slowly followed John, who was outside now.

"Wait Sherlock!" said Lestrade as he walked over to Sherlock "Was she right?"

He paused before he decided to speak up again.

"You know my number. "he replied with a smirk and with that he walked outside.

He saw the police officers gather up the last stray of yellow tape which lay on the ground and turned his head slightly to see Anderson climb into a police car rather faster than usual. Elizabeth did leave a few bits of information out of her deductions, but decided to wait until tomorrow. He saw that Elizabeth and John were already waiting for him in a taxi, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped "Compose New Message" to send to Mycroft.

**A month it is. -SH**


	9. Chapter 9

It was late when all three of them returned home. The traffic in the streets started to die down as drunken office workers left corner pubs with their pockets turned inside out with a smile on their faces. When the taxi stopped outside 221B, Elizabeth was the first to leave the taxi to rush towards the door. John followed behind her, leaving Sherlock to dig into his coat pocket to pay the driver. When John opened the door, Elizabeth hurried up the stairs while trying to make as less noise as she possibly could. She was hoping to see her father in the middle of the living room, ready to take her back with him for the night. Instead, she was left with a large suitcase and carrier bag, which stood in the middle of the living room. She heard behind her John take his shoes off while Sherlock flung his coat onto the couch.

"So I'm staying with you then?" she asked plainly, not leaving her eyes from the bag.

"Just until things are settled," replied Sherlock as he lit the fireplace to bring in warmth into the room.

"Okay, where would I sleep then?" she asked as she faced Sherlock.

"My room, until we can get sleeping arrangements sorted,"

John had already left to go to bed, leaving her and Sherlock in the room filled with silence. She grabbed her suitcase and bag and took them with her into her temporary bedroom. She wondered where Sherlock would sleep, possibly the couch, although he didn't look like the type of man to sleep 8 hours a day. The bags under his eyes showed that. The bed covers were still left untouched from this afternoon, which made it easier for her to push her bags into the corner of the room and fall into the bed, into an endless sleep.

* * *

_A blast to the stomach made me fall back onto the nodular floor beneath me. I was surrounded with laughter and people shouting words of hate. I wasn't helped by anyone, not even pedestrians who were passing by, I knew they heard me. A huge amount of pressure was pushed into my arms as I gave out a horrific scream of pain. The voices turned into more laughter as they continued to hit me with all the power they had. I was alone. So alone. _

Elizabeth bolted upright from her sleeping position as she contemplated her surroundings. She was back in Sherlock's room, not the alley she had dreamed of numerous of times. These dreams happened almost every night, leaving her feel like all the life had suddenly left her body. She felt across her forehead and found a trace of sweat on the back of her hands. These dreams are her continuing nightmare which made it harder to forget.

She got up out of bed and walked down the corridor to get a glass of water from the kitchen. She had a routine for whenever this happened. When she would wake up, she would walk into the kitchen; get a drink and pace around the fireplace to get rid of the coldness which sat on her shoulders. Whenever she felt cold, it would always take her back to that day.

"Nightmare?" asked someone from the kitchen. It was Sherlock. She didn't even enter the living room and she was already found out.

"Yeah, how did you know?"She asked as she turned the living room lights on. Sherlock was undergoing an experiment, luckily not like the one from yesterday.

"John does the same as you. He has nightmares and when he goes into the living room, you can hear his heavy breathing from practically a mile away. Also screaming in the middle of the night does give it away." He said, his eyes not leaving the microscope.

"It didn't occur to you to check on me?" she asked.

Ignoring her question, he asked his own, "What was it about?"

"Why do you care?" she asked as she headed for John's armchair to sit down. She felt like each furniture belonged to someone, and if she sat in the wrong one, then WW3 would start.

"I always ask John what his nightmares are about, now I am asking you,"

This time, he left his experiment and joined Elizabeth by sitting opposite her, not breaking eye contact with her. She took a deep breath and lay back on her chair.

"Okay then. I wasn't really likeable at my old school, practically everyone hated me. I didn't even have any friends, no one was interested. It didn't help that I grew up without a father. I was clever at my school; my grades were always at high standards. Instead of praise from people, I was shoved into lockers and called names. They called me a freak. It got worse when they found out that I had a facebook account. Not only did they threaten me outside, but inside the comfort of my own home," tears started to appear as she closed her eyes and faced away from Sherlock.

"They wished I was dead and said they would kill me in my sleep. I couldn't tell mum, she was so stressed out about work that she didn't need another distraction. This continued for a year. But on this one day, I had to tell her. I was walking back home from staying after school for revision classes. It got darker and the only way back home was going through this pathway. I didn't care if I couldn't see; I just wanted to get home. I was pulled to the side of the alley and got pushed to the ground. I already knew who they were. They were these boys at my school who were a lot taller than me and more built. They started laughing at me, kicking me, punching me. One boy had a knife in his hand, he used it on me," she wiped the tears with her sleeves and she tried to calm her breathing.

"He stabbed me in the arm, and they were still laughing, still punching. That didn't make me upset, just angry. What made me upset was the fact that I saw people at the end of the alley where the main street was. They were just watching, no one would help me. When one of the boys saw these people, they ran away and only one person came to help me by calling an ambulance," she lifted up her sleeves to show Sherlock her injury.

"This happened a month ago. After my mum found out, she moved me into a new school. But I was still called names there, and people still picked on me. My grades started to get worse and I got into more fights with people. She decided to send me here to get a new life. It really annoys me when people do those things to me or to the people I respect. That was why I was so angry with that Anderson bloke who called us a freak. My wound is still healing, but that one night has left me mentally damaged for probably the rest of my life," she got up off the chair and walked towards the door.

"However, I can't say what they did ruined my life. Now I know not to take crap from anyone,"

And that means anyone...


	10. Chapter 10

I am so so so sorry that I haven't updated in a long (+long for emphasis) time. Revision and exams have caught up with here you go :) Sorry if it's boring, but don't forget to R&R.

* * *

It's been a week at Baker Street where they haven't had a case. When they did receive a case, Sherlock would decline. That is one of the things that Elizabeth learned at her stay; he hated minor cases, the ones that took up seconds of his time. Elizabeth had to agree with this; Scotland Yard can't always rely on Sherlock, it's their job. For most of the time, it was just her and Sherlock while John was at work. They had both driven into a circling routine. For Elizabeth, it was: Wake up, go back to bed, wake up, get food, go back to bed, wake up, go shopping, read book and go back to bed. She was really happy that she was organising her life, she just wished she organised it more efficiently. Sherlock, on the other hand, was not happy. His routine was: Get bored, get really bored, shoot wall, shoot wall again, find cigarettes, fail at finding cigarettes, deduce Mrs Hudson, cut up corpse, deduce characters from Eastenders, burn things, experiment and experiment again. Elizabeth figured out that she had not seen or heard Sherlock sleep in the past week, the lack of sleep can drive someone mad. Maybe she should try and get him to sleep, it would be much quieter. No, she couldn't; she wouldn't.

"Sherlock, it's freezing. You should wear a coat," said Elizabeth as she handed him his black, heavy coat, "You'll catch a cold!"

"It's not freezing," was all he said.

"Famous last words, Sherlock!" she said as she set it on the neigbouring counter, "If you get ill, you can't go to crime scenes and if you can't go to crime scenes th-"

Sherlock didn't need telling twice, even if it would shut her up. He reached to the far left to pick up his coat to wear and returned back to his work. Then it was plan two; Elizabeth walked to the radiators and turned it up at the highest level. Since it was in the middle of August, it should make things easier. She turned to see if Sherlock saw her; he didn't. Now it was step 3; she closed all of the open windows and doors and covered them with curtains. Elizabeth walked to the sofa and sat down and just stared at Sherlock and waited for the magic to happen.

After a couple of minutes, she noticed that Sherlock's eyelids began to drop as his eyeballs rolled to the back of his head; but he didn't stop conducting his experiment. He seemed very dedicated to his things. He tried to reach for a pen that was on the other side of the counter, but gave up after a minute. Without any warning, he dropped his head onto the counter. When Elizabeth could hear snores, she got up off the seat and walked over to the kitchen to study what she could see in front of her.

He seemed to be asleep, but she couldn't be sure. She grabbed Sherlock's wrists, lifted them up and dropped them back onto the surface. She decided that he was asleep and decided what to do now. She looked over to the couch again and decided that Sherlock was probably out cold. She walked up behind Sherlock in his chair and hooked her arms under his. Gently, without waking him up, she lifted her arms and slowly moved towards the sofa; bringing Sherlock with her. He murmured something in his sleep that she decided to ignore. Even though he was in his 30's, she could still drag him without any fuss. The only problem was since the room was so warm, she got more and more weaker; which made her slower.

After a couple of minutes, she reached the sofa and chucked Sherlock onto it; still without waking him up. It was funny how he was a heavy sleeper, but rarely slept at all. She was about to open the window to let the breeze in, but she thought this might wake him up, so she didn't risk it. She plopped herself down on the floor in front of where Sherlock lay and stared at the wall opposite her. She realised that she spent 5 minutes looking at the wall, completely unaware of her surroundings. Her head started to fall towards her back as her eyes would shut close. She didn't want to go to sleep, there were things to be done. She couldn't think of anything at the moment, but there was something; probably not important.

* * *

John decided to walk home today since it was weather you shouldn't take advantage of. Everyone on the streets seemed so happy; everyone was in their own little bubble. He looked at the road across from him and saw that the supermarket was still open. He wondered if Elizabeth remembered to get the things on the shopping list. She probably did, like she said: She had a routine.

When he reached 221B Baker Street, he noticed that all the curtains and the windows were shut. Not thinking much of it, he opened the door and started to walk up the stairs. He couldn't hear anything, but that was until he got to the living room door. At first he hesitated, but soon enough, he opened the door and peaked inside. All the lights were turned off and the only light that could be seen was from the cracks in between the curtains. He was about to check the other rooms until he heard noises coming from the sofa. It took him a while to noticed, but eventually he understood.

Sherlock was asleep. Actually asleep. It was a miracle, something that would happen on a full moon. He was in his black coat with his whole body facing the fireplace. He walked over to the windows to open the curtains but tripped over an object on the floor. he looked down and saw Elizabeth who was half sleeping, half waking. She slowly raised her head up towards John and squinted her eyes towards him.

"John," she said, still dazed from sleeping, "Whatever you do, don't open them curtains,"


	11. Chapter 11

John was at the supermarket when Elizabeth got a phone call. Well, it wasn't actually a phone call; more like a video call. Since Elizabeth's computer ran out of battery, she had to borrow someone else's computer. She went to the only other person in the flat and that was Sherlock. She would have used John's, but she thought it was ignorant for a person to just hack into someone's computer like that. She could if she wanted to, she just chose not to.

"Sherlock, I need to borrow your computer," asked Elizabeth as she walked into the living room.

"Don't you have your own?" he asked. He was conducting another experiment that probably would end in a disaster;they always do.

"Yes, but it ran out of battery,"

"John's?"

Elizabeth just looked at him with a 'are you serious?' face, "I can't use John's, it's an invasion of privacy,"

"I do it all the time," he said as he handed her John's laptop, "'JW221BBS' isn't the smartest of passwords. Took me four attempts; usually three,"

Elizabeth took the laptop;only because she didn't want to quarrel with him, not after what happened when she apparently 'drugged him' to go to sleep. She sat down across from Sherlock on the counter and opened up the screen. Sherlock was right; John's password worked and soon enough she was looking at his desktop background. The picture was of John and a woman who were standing next to each other;smiling.

"Who's th-" asked Elizabeth.

"John and his sister, Harry. Harry is short for Harriet," replied Sherlock immediately

She didn't know John had a sister, but that didn't matter now. She opened up her email account to check if her mother left her any new messages; she didn't. Of the weeks she was away, she had not had a reply from her mother. She couldn't of forgotten; Elizabeth sent her an email everyday. This new information made her unhappy, it was as if her mother didn't want anything to do with her. She would always-

_Ring! Ring!_

Elizabeth snapped back into reality once she realised that John's computer was ringing. She looked up to Sherlock in confusion, but he wasn't really with it. She looked around the desktop screen as the ringing continued. That was when she noticed that a Skype button was shining in the notification corner.

Without thinking, she clicked the button to answer the video call. After a couple of seconds, a man appeared on the screen. He wasn't anywhere near her age, he wasn't anywhere near Sherlock's age either. He was a very old man with glasses that fell to the tip of his nose. His forehead and his eyes were teaming with wrinkles and had grey hair that was was combed to the side of his head. His face was too close to the screen so when he appeared, he jumped at the sight of her.

"John Watson?" he asked.

Again, Elizabeth looked at him with an 'are you serious' face, "Do I look like John Watson to you?"

"Well, where is he?"

"He's out," she looked up again at Sherlock who was still in a daze, "Who are you?"

"I am DI Scott. DI Lestrade from Scotland Yard told me to contact John and Sherlock through webcam,"

"Really?"

"Yes really. If Johns not in, then is Sherlock there?"

She took a couple of pens from the side of the laptop and chucked them at Sherlock, who snapped back into present tense. He gave Elizabeth dagger eyes; she had no choice, if she were to call his name she would be there for a lifetime.

"What now?" said Sherlock.

"A DI Potts want to speak to you," she said as she handed over the laptop. She swore she could heard the DI shout something verbal over the video.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" he asked as he moved his face further away from the screen. Elizabeth didn't want to miss anything, so she ran over across the kitchen to stand next to him.

"Yes, I'm guessing your DI Potts?"

"Scott actually. Anyway, I am aware that you are on a case that involves a serial murderer who attack a certain type of women. He last attacked in Linhope Street in London?"

"Yes and why, DI Scott, are you contacting me?"

"Well, I am based in Harlow which is further away from the crime scenes you've been to. We got a report from a neighbor about a break in. We checked it out and found that a woman was murdered and-"

"She had the same features as the other victims,"

"Exactly,"

"Give me information about her,"

"Rosa Dell, 42 years of age, brown hair and brown eyes. She has lived in Harlow for about 20 years, but moved into her new house just recently,"

Elizabeth took the moment to speak up, "I don't think destination has anything to do with his motives, but he seems to be moving further and further away from where it originally started,"

"So the question is: Why?" Sherlock asked, "The recent victim had just left a long term marriage, but the other partner moved away to France for a business trip around the time of her death. He can't be the murderer; if he was how can he be in two places at once?"

"Why are you saying all this now?" asked Elizabeth.

"Well, I thought you should have your moment," said Sherlock, "A picture on the mantelpiece was faced down. When you looked around, I checked the photo; it was a picture of her and a man. People who face down pictures usually don't want to remember the pictures. They both were close together and the man had his arm around her hip. Not something that a relative would do so I suggest lover. A letter was in the bin; again I checked when you weren't looking. A letter from him from France made two days ago. Since it was at the top of the bin suggests she recently got it. It says on the letter "I am here for another week", so he would still be there. People usually keep letters from loved ones, but she didn't. She threw it in the bin, so she is trying to forget. The man, however, wants to rekindle their relationship. Why would a man send a letter to someone they recently divorced? Because he still loves her,"

Elizabeth had to let all that information sync in before she realised. It sounded awfully sick to her, like one of them cheesy love stories they show on Sunday afternoons.

"I hate stuff like that," she said.

"Stuff like what?"

"Sentiment, it's so-" said Elizabeth, but paused trying to think of a word.

"Boring?"

"Exactly,"

They both looked to the screen to find the impressed face of the DI,but to find an empty screen instead.

"How rude," she said as she took the laptop away.

"Not to worry," said Sherlock as he continued with his experiment, "We should get something new in a couple of days; until then,"

"We continue with life?" she asked.

"Exactly,"


	12. Chapter 12

The kitchen ran out of the necessities, so John and Elizabeth made a trip out of it to get out of the flat. Sherlock rarely goes with them; in fact, he hardly goes at all. Tesco was practically empty, since it was 4 o'clock in the morning. Elizabeth couldn't sleep; she asked John why he was awake, but he didn't say. It was weird, the streets of London early in the morning; there were less cars, less people, less noise. But as always, it wasn't safe.

"Okay," said Elizabeth as she grabbed a shopping trolley, "What do we need,"

"Well," he grabbed a lost from his side pocket, "We need: Bread, Coffee, Sugar, Butter, Jam, Honey, Milk-"

"We always need milk," she said, interrupting John.

"We go through tea and coffee like water, we need it,"

They wondered through each part of the shop. They had already got the items they needed; they just wandered because they had nothing better to do. If they went back, they would just sit in their rooms, stair at the walls and basically hate the life they live. Both of them have had trouble sleeping over the past few days; she isn't used to classical music playing in the early hours of the morning. She thought this would be a good time to bring up a topic that she had recently discovered.

"You talk in your sleep," she said plainly. John didn't really catch that, mainly because he wasn't listening.

"Sorry?"

"I said: You talk in your sleep. Why do you do that?"

"What do I say?" asked John, eager to know.

"Well I don't always spy on you in your room," she said, putting a box of cereal into the trolley, "But when I do, you just say words like: Cry, Miracle, Alone, Dead, Stop, Hero. Do they mean anything?"

John stopped in the middle of the shop and just stared into outer space, "I say them things?"

"Afraid so; I hate to say this John, but sometimes," she hesitated, "You cry in your sleep. I worry for you John,"

"Well don't," he continued to walk. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around so that he was facing her.

"Before I met you guys, I read in the newspapers about a fake suicide," she saw he winced at the word suicide, "What actually happened?"

"Sherlock faked his suicide," that was all he said.

"And your still angry?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Whenever Sherlock talks about his cases," she took the trolley from John and continued to walk, "You clench your fists and you just stare at him in such an angry way. Did you ever talk about it, and how you felt about it?"

"We talked about it, kind of. I didn't tell him anything about what happened in them three years,"

"Don't you think you should?"

"He wouldn't care," they both headed towards the self check-out, "He never does,"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"43 year old Hannah Jones from Linton was stabbed to death in her home after what appeared to be a break in this morning. Police are now under the suspicion that the murder was a link to many other murders that have happened in areas such as Harlow and London. If you know anything about these murders, then contact the police as soon as-" said the news broadcaster. She never got to finish her report before Sherlock got tired of her and turned off the television.

Two murders in under 72 hours and the killer was still not locked up. They barely leave traces or clues behind, which makes the case more distressing for him. Usually, he could solve a case in just a day, but this was different. The murders were linked and he didn't know why. Was there a motive? Did he have vengance for women in their 40's? His mind palace wasn't helping him out; if that couldn't help him, then what could?

He looked up to the door to hear footsteps and silent talking; John and Elizabeth must have been out shopping. When they entered the living room, they didn't look at Sherlock. He could have shot the wall and they still wouldn't notice he was there.

"I'm going to bed," said Elizabeth, walking towards Sherlock's room. John gave a slight nod; Sherlock copied. Sherlock and John haven't been alone since Elizabeth arrived; neither of them spoke to each other, until John spoke.

"I need to talk to you," he said as he sat down in his armchair.

"John, I'm busy with the case,"

John just looked at him, "You're not busy Sherlock, you're stuck. You can't figure it out. Just admit it,"

He waited for an answer, but after a minute, he could tell he wasn't getting one. Sherlock just couldn't admit that he was defeated.

"I want to talk about what happened three years ago,"

"John, are you still angry at that?" he asked. He didn't really notice that he had a mocking tone when he said it; he noticed when John pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You never asked me what I did in them three years,"

"Mycroft kept me updated,"

John realised what he just said, he was now more and more irritated with him, "Mycroft knew?"

"Of course he knew,"

"You knew I was going through hell, and you still didn't come back?!"

"I couldn't, it would risk everything,"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. I can't help it if my flatmate AND bestfriend jumped off a building right infront of me and died,"

"But I didn't die!" said Sherlock, as he got more bothered with how John said it, "I am here, infront of you!"

"You weren't when I needed you. For the three years, I thought life wasn't worth living. I became so depressed. I turned away from my friends; my family. I locked myself in here and let life drain out from me. I felt sorry for myself. I became boring. Life got boring. I wanted to follow you Sherlock, that was what you did to me. I don't care if Moriarty was threatening to kill me. You could have contacted me, I can't get back those three years I went through. I still have nightmare's about what happened; I wake up and I remember. Remembering something like that everyday for the rest of your life is dreadful. You know-" John got up and walked towards the door, "You never said sorry," And with that, John left.

Sherlock sighed. He did that to John; he emotionally broke him. If he didn't come back sooner, he wouldn't be facing John today. He would have killed himself for no reason and it would have been his fault. He whispered to himself, "John, I'm so sorry,"


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft sat in his isolated office; clinging onto the chilling feel of his scotch. He stared at the door; after a while, he noticed that he was staring too long and turned to look at a different object. His office had the stereotypical items of a man who could literally afford everything. He had the latest high-tech equipment which could practically shut down the government, but again, he is using it to spy on not Sherlock and John, but Elizabeth. From what he has already seen of Elizabeth, he is intrigued by the talent and deduction skills that she possess within her.

Mycroft has been trying to locate Elizabeth through all of the CCTV cameras in London, but still he can't seem to trace her. She was as cunning as she was smart; that was the annoying part. He went back to look at the cameras in Baker Street to see if he missed her; he didn't, she was nowhere to be seen. Just when Mycroft gave up on his search, Anthea walked through the door; up to Mycroft.

"Elizabeth is here to see you." she stated, leaving the room. He straightened up from his chair to make him look more presentable and quickly turned his computer off. When Anthea left the room, Elizabeth walked into the room and closed the door behind her. He noticed that she had changed since he last met her; she was more confident when she walked, pacing herself.

"Hi." said Elizabeth as she took the single chair in front of him. From what he noticed, she never appeared to break eye contact with him; she focused on him and only him, "In here again, are you?"

"How did you avoid the CCTV cameras?"

"I know my way round."

"What are you doing here, may I ask?" asked Mycroft as he poured himself another glass of scotch, "I am very busy with the current crisis in which the British Government is facing lately."

"I know that you did a DNA test on me, which I find extremely insulting by the way. Sherlock was reasonable with the whole thing, he knew straight away. Even though he didn't tell me, I knew that he knew. He didn't mind either, he actually seemed pleased, " she said, leaning back into her chair, "I guess he's just happy to have some intelligence to work with."

"You have to understand that I found this a complete shock. A man in my position puts you at a much greater risk. I am in no state of being a father and after living with your uncle, you must realise that."

It took a couple of seconds for Elizabeth to realise what he just said, "Uncle? So you're my-"

"Dad? Yes I am. Sorry if that was a disappointment."

They both just sat there and stared at each other. They hardly looked alike, but it was a fact. Mycroft was Elizabeth's dad. He didn't really know what to say, even though there were things to be said. He couldn't believe that a man who is feared by many pressure groups is a father.

"What are we going to do?" asked Elizabeth, braking the tension between the two of them. Mycroft thought about the options. Option #1 was for Elizabeth to stay living with Sherlock and John; from what he saw, she looked quite settled there. Option #2 was that Elizabeth would move in with Mycroft and would live together in the awkward environment that they face now. Option #3 was that Elizabeth would move back to Cambridge and continue to live with her mother, far away from Sherlock; far away from him.

"When it gets to the end of the month, you will return to Cambridge and live with your mother. You will not continue contact with either me or Sherlock. You will return to your normal life as if you never met us. Understood?" he said. He thought it was perfectly logical; she couldn't live with Sherlock or himself. He didn't want to risk Elizabeth getting into any danger, his job would put her at great risk.

Or was he just blaming his job for a decision that he decided? Was he being rational? Reasonable? He didn't really know. Elizabeth didn't say anything, not for a while. She just stared at him with the cold eyes that she possessed. She then got up from her chair and held out her hand to him.

"Well I am sorry it had to end like this," she said as she dropped her hand to her side, "I had a lovely time here and found the culture and the vibe of the place fascinating. London never fails to impress me, does it you? Well, you wouldn't know, you seem to be in this room all day. You are like a lost soul; being in a room like this 24/7 can turn even the most intelligent into psychopaths. It was nice meeting you, Mycroft."

And with that she left, not looking back.


	14. Chapter 14

Brace yourselves, this is the longest chapter I have done so far. Your reviews make me smile like the Cheshire cat, a bit

* * *

Elizabeth didn't really want to tell Sherlock that she was leaving. She thought that by telling him, he would see her as weak; she didn't want to come across as that. She made the last of her days at Baker Street count. She wanted them to remember her; properly remember her. Remember her in a way that they wouldn't want to break contact with her like Mycroft said. She didn't see herself as the intelligent type; even if she was, she didn't want to be smug about it. She cleaned around the house as much as she could and even helped Sherlock with a couple of experiments. It did take a lot of persuading to get him to accept her help; when he did, she had to stand precisely 2.45m apart from him and the table.

Often, she would go to work with John and help out with his patients. Obviously she wasn't allowed, but she kept to herself when either Sarah or another person walked in. She loved helping them; she felt like she was needed, even though she was volunteering herself. She tried to ask John how him and Sherlock were, but he would simply reply with 'It's okay' or 'It's nothing to worry about'. She guessed that the talk she suggested didn't help as much; but it was the most knowledgeable idea she thought of. Mind you, most of the conversations that she had haven't ended well. With Anderson, she just gained an enemy. Telling Sherlock about what happened to her makes things awkward between the two. Did she really have to explain Mycroft? A man who obviously didn't want her forces her to move back in with her mum. She hasn't heard from her mother in a while; not since the first week that she was in London.

They haven't had a call about the serial killings in ages. It might sound horrible, but Sherlock longed for another murder. Another murder led them closer to the killer, which was the idea. He would sometimes stare out the window for hours on end just to see if a murder would happen right on his doorstep; of course it didn't happen. John said that he was in his 'mind palace', a place where he would go and think. Sherlock never failed to impress her.

* * *

Elizabeth was leaving late tonight, but she decided that she would pack her things last minute. Mycroft would send a car that would pick her up and take her straight home. She thought of all the things that she could do. First thing on her list was to talk to Mrs Hudson. She walked down the stairs and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door.

"Oh, hello dear." she said with a warming smile; that was what she would miss from her, "Are you alright?"

"This might be really rude of me," said Elizabeth, "But can I invite myself for a cup of tea?"

She didn't reply; she simply nodded. Mrs Hudson's flat had a warm welcome to it; it felt as if all her troubles simply melted from the warmth. She had pictures of her family up and even though it was summer, she still had the fireplace lit. All of her ornaments were perfectly arranged around her flat; each one freshly polished and reflecting the light of the fireplace back at her.

Mrs Hudson saw Elizabeth look at the flames, "It was freezing in here, so I put on the fire. I hope you don't mind, dear."

"Of course not."

So they both sat at her kitchen table; holding cups of tea in their hand and exchanging friendly chat between each other.

"For a young lady like you, you're very grown up." said Mrs Hudson.

"I guess I am."

"You must get it from your father." she said, not noticing that Elizabeth's face dropped. She didn't really want to think about her father, not now. So they both continued talking until the tea in the teapot started to get cold. It was time for Elizabeth to leave. So she got up from her chair, excused herself and gave Mrs Hudson a hug, slightly holding on too long.

"You know about Mycroft?"

"Yes dear, John told me a week ago."

"He did?"

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes Mrs Hudson, I'm fine."

* * *

The next thing on her list was to talk to John. It didn't have to be about any problems they were facing; it could literally be about anything. For her, being in John's presence was all she needed. She saw him as family and nothing else. He treated her like family when no one else would. For some reason, he understood her when no one else could. Slowly, she walked up the stairs back into the flat and entered the living room. Within the living room, she saw Sherlock sat in his usual place doing nothing and John on the main sofa typing something on the computer; he was probably working on his blog.

Elizabeth occupied the space left by sitting next to him with her legs crossed together. She looked over at John's laptop to see his latest post.

_Still no case-_

"Alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just looking," she said while John continued to type, "Why can't Sherlock just accept the cases that he finds easy?"

"What do you mean?"

"The other day Lestrade called about a theft which happened just down the road; why doesn't he accept stuff like that?"

"To be honest," he said as he clicked _Post _on his computer, "It's as if he knows who did it, without actually turning up to the crime scene."

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Can he hear us?"

Both of them looked over to Sherlock who was still sat in the same position as Elizabeth last looked at him; he was literally a living statue.

"He's been sat like that since this morning; hasn't even moved. I wonder why he does things like that, but now I think he's just in his mind palace again."

Elizabeth nodded, "How many views do you have on your blog?"

"A couple of thousand."

"That's nice," she said, "How come you-"

Elizabeth was cut short when she heard a repetitive noise which was coming from John's pocket. He sighed as he fished for his phone in his pocket; she saw the screen flashing a new message had just arrived. After a couple of seconds of John reading the content, he sighed again as he got up and put his computer back on charge.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It was Sarah," he said as he put his coat on and fastened the zipper, "She wants me to come in for a couple of hours."

"When will you be back?"

"Well Sarah's going to be in also," he said as he headed for the door, "She might want me to go with her for a drink, so I should be back around midnight."

Midnight. **Midnight. **This would be the last time she may see him again, they didn't even talk to each other for five minutes. She wanted to stop him; to tell him, but she couldn't. Without even realising what she was doing, she got up from her seat and ran up to John. She pulled him in for a brief hug, which took him by surprise. It was awkward because she was slightly taller than him and her chin was just above his shoulders; she knew John was slightly angry with her because he didn't want their height difference to be noticed.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yep?" She could see that John was shifting nervously from side to side; she guessed it was because of the unexpected hug that made him tense up.

"Are you alright?"

She had to force her words out before she replied, "Yes, I'm fine."

She let go of John and smiled at him, while opening the door for him. He grinned back as he walked through the door; along the corridor and down the stairs. The doors, to Elizabeth, seemed to be getting smaller and smaller; as if all links between the two were simply cut off. When she could no longer hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden panels of the floor, she closed the door and turned around to see a wide view of the living room. Sherlock was still there, sat in place; hardly aware of what had just happened between her and John. To her, he looked like a monster; the ones that hid in the shadows, invisible to the people around them. She was scared of him; she really was scared of him. He just sat there, he didn't do anything. He must have been there for more than five hours; what kind of a human being does that? She wanted to shout at him, she wanted to shake him until he actually talked. She didn't know why she wanted to do those things, but the sight of Sherlock there doing nothing made her blood boil. She guessed it was because he hadn't notice that there was something wrong with her. She wanted to cry, she would have cried there and then and still he wouldn't do anything about it. She marched to Sherlock's room, making sure she made as much noise as possible so that Sherlock could actually hear her; he didn't. She slammed the door and faced her back to it. After a couple of minutes of staring into outer space, she slid down the door and collapsed on the floor and broke into fit of tears.

* * *

It got late when she realised that she had only an hour to pack, but then she realised that she couldn't get passed Sherlock without him noticing her suitcase. So she did what she knew she could do. She got out of the room and walked into the living room; Sherlock was still there, not even a single hair out of place. She knew that he was awake; she didn't know how, she just did. She went to all of the radiators in the house and turned them all up. Each radiated ridiculous amount of heat which made even Elizabeth tired. She closed every single window and door of the flat. By doing this, each individual room was quiet; the only noises that could be heard was the breathing of whoever was in that room. She stood next to Sherlock and poked him in his left arm; still he didn't move. Looking at the blanket which sat in the neighbouring couch, she picked it up and wrapped it around Sherlock. She stepped back and looked at the man in front of her. She did all that she could do, so she left the living room and headed back to pack while turning off each glowing light bulb.

She heard a car horn go off outside the flat, which told her that Mycroft has arrived with the car. She opened the bedroom door and lifted up her suitcase while walking back into the living room. What she did worked again, Sherlock's eyes were closed and his neck was arched so that his head was resting on the back of the couch. Now she wanted to say goodbye, but Sherlock hardly ever got sleep. So by him sleeping now gave John an easy job of watching him, at least she could do that for him. She walked up to the table and grabbed the nearest piece of paper and pen and wrote a note for Sherlock:

_Dear Sherlock_

_Congratulations, it turns out that I am related to you and Mycroft. I thought he would be happy, but he wasn't. Well, I don't think he was. I asked what will happen next, and this is what happened: me leaving you a note. He wanted me to return back home, to Cambridge. I didn't tell you Sherlock because I was afraid that you would agree with him. My life is based on people not really wanting me. My mum sent me here and my father sent me back, so I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to be the 3rd._

_Meeting you and John has changed my life. You and John are the most amazing people I have ever met. I wish I could have stayed; I really do, I wish I moved in with you two. But what is the point if Mycroft doesn't want me? So while you are reading this, I am probably back home living with my mum. I want to make one thing clear to you Sherlock. You are more of a father to me than Mycroft ever was and I hope; I pray that you find the serial killer to prove that you are not a fake, but the most intelligent man Scotland Yard has ever seen. _

_Good luck._

_Elizabeth_


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock awoke with various spots of cramp in his neck, after falling asleep in a somewhat uncomfortable position. He didn't know how he gotten himself in this state until he saw all of the curtains closed and felt the radiator produce ridiculous amounts of heat, which could only mean that Elizabeth had done this to him again. He smiled to himself as he got up off the armchair, taking his time because his legs felt as if they were locked into place. While opening the windows and turning off the radiators, he seemed to notice that it was quieter than usual in the flat. The time was four in the morning, so she would have been awake by now from her lack of sleep, she would have been sitting on the couch, but she wasn't there. That was when Sherlock noticed a note that was isolated on the desk, it was addressed to him in her handwriting. Not thinking much of it, he picked up the piece of paper and read what it had to say.

* * *

John had just returned from what he thought was a depressing night with Sarah, they couldn't really talk about work because of obvious reasons and they couldn't talk about interests because neither of them cared about each others. He didn't want too much to worry about when resigning to bed, he didn't want see various scatters of blood or body parts around the place which were becoming a daily ritual. He climbed up the stairs but stopped, his left foot still hovering over a step so that he could hear for anything in the flat. It was quiet for a while, but all the silence changed when various gun shots were heard from upstairs. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could, successfully not tripping over his feet and burst through the living room door to find Sherlock pointing the gun at the wall.

He had never seen Sherlock like this before. Whenever Sherlock would shoot at something or show signs of frustration, you could recognise he was doing it because he was bored, but not this time. This time, Sherlock had fire in his eyes, it was burning deep into his iris, his hands gripped the gun so tightly that John could see his hands turn into a lighter shade of white.

"What are you doing?!" shouted John over the echoes of the bullets.

Sherlock ignored him and continued to shoot at the wall, still not looking at him even though he was so close. John couldn't just snatch the gun away from him, he could numerous times before but not now. Eventually, Sherlock ran out of bullets and just threw the gun into John's direction, just avoiding his head.

"SHE'S GONE!"

"WHO?"

"ELIZABETH!"

"She can't be gone, she would have told us." said John who looked just as angry as Sherlock.

"Well, she has!" Sherlock tossed a piece of paper toward John, "She has made it perfectly clear."

Sherlock paced impatiently around the room while waiting for John to read it. As John went over each sentence, he began to feel an erupting sense of fury deep within him. How could Mycroft be so cold hearted? Her words made him feel useless, how could he not see the signs that something was wrong? Elizabeth first appeared to John as confident and mysterious, but after he read the note he now believed all of that was a mask to hide the actual truth. The truth was that she was just as clever and just as an outcast as Sherlock was. John turned the note over the see that Elizabeth had left her address.

"You wanted her here, didn't you?" asked John.

"She was intelligent; I can't deny that. She had the natural ability of deducing someone just by looking at the victim. We share that skill, John. We are both useful," Sherlock was still pacing around the room vigorously, "She wanted to be here and I wouldn't have said no. She had faith in me even though she didn't know everything about me. But what can I do?!"

"SHERLOCK!" John grabbed Sherlock by his shoulders, putting him at a halt; causing Sherlock to freeze , "I know you Sherlock. I know what you're like. You wouldn't give up this easily; you can tell she doesn't want to go back. Why are you listening to your brother anyway?" Sherlock looked at John with something that John had never noticed before: a look of plea.

"You never listen to your brother. I know that; you know that; even the British Government knows that, so why are you now?" John sat Sherlock down into his armchair and travelled to his own, "It's obvious you care for the girl. She shouldn't leave thinking everyone disowned her because it's clear that you haven't; don't disappoint her, Sherlock." They both sat there looking at each other and what they had become over the past few months.

"John Watson," said Sherlock as he got up from his seat; John copied his moves, "I am so sorry,"

"For what?"

"You know what. I should have told you before I jumped-"

"It's the past Sherlock; I'm trying to forget,"

"But I can't; you can't either," Sherlock said as he took a step towards John, "What I did what monstrous, but I had my reasons and they were to protect you. You; Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. I didn't want to risk telling you because that would put you in a more vulnerable state than you already were. I made you feel like life was not worth living. I can't take back what I did. I can't give you the three years I took from you, but please do one thing: forgive me."

John looked away from Sherlock for a moment; showing that he was thinking about it. Both men have gone so far over the years since the day they first met each other. Sherlock has become more human; John couldn't decide if it was because of him or if it just happened. He took one look at Sherlock before smiling at him, which he returned. They could tell things were going to get better.

"So what do we do now?" said John as he stared proudly at the changed man in front of him.

"Now," said Sherlock as he went to fetch his coat, "We head for Cambridge."

* * *

This chapter NEARLY turned into a Johnlock moment, but I just stopped myself. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated :)


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock and John were accompanied by Lestrade in the police car as they headed towards Cambridge. He didn't really want to go, but he felt that he owed Sherlock after all the times he had successfully solved a case. If Sherlock wasn't there to solve cases, then the press would have given them a lot of grief. He drove the car while the other two sat in the back; Sherlock still held onto the note that she gave him, his eyes scanning over each letter of each word. His hands gripped tightly around each side of the paper and held it close to his pale face.

"What time did she leave?" asked Lestrade, just to break the tension.

"I don't know." Sherlock said coldly.

"Well, I told her I would be back around midnight, she might have left around that time." said John to Sherlock.

"So she should be there by now." finished Lestrade. He wished he could bring up another topic, but just couldn't find anything. He rarely knew them outside work, what could he say?

So all three of them sat in the car, not talking for the rest of the journey, returning to the silence that had originally been placed. Lestrade stared at the road ahead; Sherlock stared at the paper in front of him and John continued to stare at Sherlock. What really worried John about Sherlock was that he had never seen him in such a state. He looked defeated; he looked helpless. He just sat there, staring at a piece of paper and nothing else. This was one of the things that frightened John the most: the look of Sherlock being defeated.

Sherlock had been defeated many times before, he can't always succeed, you can never have the perfect mind. The Woman was one of many who made him helpless. John never did like her, he hated liars; people who thought they could break down someone; people who make others vulnerable, people like her. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was an eye opener for Sherlock. He never shared human emotions, but with her, it was like an everyday necessity.

"We'll be there in five minutes," said Lestrade while staring into the front mirror, "What are you actually going to do when you see her?"

"Walk in, pack her bags, walk back out again," said John, "That's the plan."

"Really? You think that would work?"

"Let's hope so."

* * *

He sat in his armchair; looking out into the opposite window he could see the early hour rush traffic fly by as he sat in thought. Of all the years he has been with the government, Mycroft never thought that he could bring up a child. He isn't practically the British Government, he is so much more. She wouldn't be safe; everyone knew that. That morning, he had sent her a car, now, he was thinking that it was the worst thing he has ever done. He doesn't know it, but she was the best thing that ever happened to him. He wasn't all about politics anymore; he was a father, an actual father.

There he was, sat in a room of silence with men who kept to themselves. Men who had money and power to do great things, but instead, sat in the room doing nothing for the world, which was what he was really doing at that moment in time. He was sat there with a newspaper in one hand and a glass of brandy in the other, while his daughter was two hours away, probably crying to herself and thinking about how much of an idiot her father was.

Mycroft repeated the word 'father' to himself, it still seemed weird, but you can't change facts. He realised that he had made a mistake. He can't send her back, he knew she loved it here, but he still took it away from her. He pushed her away as if she was from a far off land or a speck of dust on his newly, ironed suit. He picked up his phone and started to send a text message to Anthea.

**Get a car ready. MH**

He got up from his seat, gave each neighbouring politician a steady nod and headed outside into the hallway where Anthea awaited him. She had a look of concern, but excitement at the same time, not a likely combination you would see from her. For once in what seemed to be a while, she looked up from her phone and actually stared at him.

"Location?" she asked as they both headed towards the door.

"442 Rosebush Road," he said as he opened the door for her, ",Cambridge."

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They reached the street of where Elizabeth resided, or used to reside in according to Sherlock. From how he was acting, they guessed that he wouldn't leave without her. The street itself was rather cosy, the houses weren't packed together, but they were a few metres away from each other. Since it was summer, the greenery of the place made the street more naturally beautiful, as it contrasted with the man-made buildings and the carbon emissions. John always told himself that if he was to retire, he would move into a place like this. It seemed so peaceful, if only life was like that, he thought.

"How far now?" asked John.

"It should be he-" Lestrade didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, instead he was staring at one of the houses in front of him. He brought the car into immediate stop, opened the car window and continued to stare at the house. It was the same design as the rest of them, except this one was different. The difference, however, was so frightening that when Sherlock looked up at the house, he turned as white as a sheet. This was Elizabeth's house, the house they had been looking for, except the look of the house was horrific.

The front door had been smashed and lay on the ground, the force must have been so great that it must have separated the door into numerous bits of pieces. The lawn at the front of the house, not like the other houses, was covered in tyre marks with various chunks of grass dug out of its place. Windows had been smashed from both the inside and the outside, but this didn't make the men in the car turn pale. What made them turn pale was the fact that the door, windows, grass and pavement was covered in ridiculous amounts of blood. Enough blood to cover more than two people.

Sherlock was the first person to get out of the car and run up to the house, followed by John and then Lestrade, each one looking as dazed and confused as the next.

"I'll call backup," he said as he headed back for the car.

Sherlock's mind was racing with all the possibilities of what could have happened. Whatever happened, he knew that Elizabeth was not safe, but a part of him kept thinking that she could have been injured, or worse. He didn't want to think like that. His brain was not functioning, he couldn't think straight. He kept trying to look around for her, hoping that she would be outside and safe, but she was nowhere to be seen. The sound of John's voice made him stop spinning and focus more on John who was stood where the door used to stand.

"Sherlock." he said, "Sherlock!"

With his brain not in focus, he followed the voice and stood beside John, looking at him.

"What have you found?" Sherlock asked as he pushed past John and stood on the door which lay below him. All the lights were out, as they had been shot by bullets, leaving leaf sized pieces of glass scattered on the floor. There had obviously been a sign of struggle, some furniture had been turned upside down or had fallen apart. The walls were covered with random gunshot holes, each wall having more than the other as if they were black stars in the night sky. He hadn't heard a reply since he asked about what he found, so he turned to face John and held him by the shoulders.

"What's wrong?!" he asked, shaking John violently and clenching his wound on his shoulder a little too hard.

"The door!" John pushed Sherlock away, but still looked at Sherlock's feet, "Just look at the door!"

John was scared, his eyes were full or panic and worry, his hands clenched into themselves, his heavy breathing easily recognisable. Sherlock turned around slowly and looked down at the door. The look of anger in his face turned into a look of horror. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be. It wasn't possible, it can't physically be possible. The newfound expression of fear made the sociopath walk backwards, not realising that John was standing behind him or caring that he was walking into him. As he moved further and further outside, the message on the door became more clear:

_This is just the beginning._

_JM_

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_(Insert Eastenders theme tune here)_

_Reviews and criticisms are very, very, very (very x221) appreciated._


	17. Chapter 17

The room was pitch black, it had a sense of death and danger to it, an unearthly welcome. Still dazed and confused, Elizabeth woke from consciousness and regained all the strength she had to find out where she was. A warm trail of something damp fell down the top of her head and left at the tip of her chin; she tried to reach up and feel where it was coming from but was restrained, as her hands were tied around a chair. Panicking, she struggled and yanked at her hands to free herself from the wretched bounds of the rope; she couldn't, she just sat there and waited for whoever put her there.

As she was drifting to sleep, a spotlight above her head turned on, however it still didn't show much of where she was. It was blinding her, burning a hole into her pupils, she didn't want to close her eyes, this sudden change of the light in the room might lead to something else, and it did. Ahead of her, she could hear a door open, followed by footsteps, but she couldn't hear the door close. The footsteps walked closer and closer to her and she started to see a dark figure before her, hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce at its prey.

"Well isn't this funny?" from what she could hear, it was a man's voice. It sounded confident; calm; destructive, the three combinations which-to her- spelled bad news.

"I wouldn't use the word 'funny'," she tried to follow his trail of his voice and footsteps, "how about 'crazy'? I think that's the right word."

He merely replied with a cold, heartless laugh that made her spine shiver as much as the rest of herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him walk towards her, slowly revealing himself to her and the light. Turning her head, she scanned his face; she knew him, she definitely did, that was why his voice sounded so familiar.

"You should be grateful," he started to circle around her, not taking his eyes away from her, "I should have charged you for the Cab fare."

This man, the man who forced his way into her house, the man who took her here, the man who tied her up, was the taxi driver. The taxi driver who took her to 221B in the first place, the man who seemed so nice, so kind, had done this to her. Instead of wearing a casual set of clothes that he wore when she last saw him, he wore a fitting black suit with a simple black tie that seemed to make him look as powerful as a man with a gun.

"Why am I here?" she asked casually, trying not to show the fear in her voice.

"Now where would be the fun in that Elizabeth," he faced the left side of her head, moving closer towards her ear so that she could feel every word he spoke, "-If I were to tell you my whole plan. Just sit back, relax and wait for nature to take its course. Think of it as a case."

"Well technically this is a case, isn't it?" she was still tugging at the rope around her wrists, "Kidnapping doesn't go unrecognised."

Instead of harming her, which she thought he would do because of her sarcastic ways, he just laughed. This wasn't a way a kidnapper would act towards their hostage; this scared her. "You're funny. I see what you're trying to do, you're scared and you're hiding it with humour." his laugh grew greater and fiercer, "Now that is funny."

She wanted to cry, the psychopath laughing in front of her made her feel weak and scared, even if that is how you're suppose to act towards someone like him. Cold, slender hands grabbed the sides of her face, she squirmed and tried to release herself, but she couldn't.

"I want to show you something," he pushed her head to the right, his hands still following, "or someone, I should say."

Out of nowhere, another random spotlight appeared metres away from her; underneath the light were two figures. The one standing up was a tall, muscular man with sandy blonde hair, he dressed as if he was in the army, he even held a gun in his left hand, he wore a sleeveless shirt which showed off his tattooed covered arms. The man looked like he had a vicious past, a past that-when uncovered-is like setting off a time bomb. It wasn't until figure two that Elizabeth realised how dangerous these two men were. The person in the chair was slouching down so that her head was placed in between her knees, pure blood was dripping onto the floor as she sobbed into herself.

"Mum?" asked Elizabeth, again trying to get up off her seat. Her mother sat there, weak and helpless, not even trying to escape, not even reacting to Elizabeth's voice. The man next to her mother held up the gun and pressed it into the back of her head, still she didn't react, "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!"

Elizabeth pulled at her ropes, this time not giving up for anything. Thinking of herself, she couldn't think why she was so important to her kidnapper. She could feel the rope burning against her fragile skin as she twisted and turned her wrists in a rigid movement.

"It's nice of you being protective of your mother," the man moved his hands away from Elizabeth's face and stood in front of her, blocking her view of her mother, "It almost makes me want to let you go, but what kind of reputation would I get from that?"

She moved her head aside so that she could still see a view of her mother, this time her mother sat up straight and was crying out in pain as the blonde haired man grabbed her by her hair. She was like a fish out of water, struggling and held against her will by a violent monster. Her mother looked at her daughter, staring into her eyes, shedding drops of tears as Elizabeth shed none.

"You don't need her here," said Elizabeth, moving her eyes away from her mother and staring at the back of the man's suit, "you need me, not her. Just let her go and I'll tell you what you want."

This seemed to get his attention, for he turned around and faced Elizabeth, his smile now turning into a devious smirk which buried into her soul. Something wasn't right. Something was wrong, this whole layout, the look of her mother. Her mother; she had brown hair and she was in her 40s, just like the others.

"You're the serial killer?" was all Elizabeth said, "You killed all those women?"

"Not me," he signalled towards the man next to her mother, "You see, I don't like to get my hands dirty, that's why I have Sebastian, but now that you mentioned it, I have to get the job done, don't I?"

The swift nod of the man's head made the henchman fire his gun into her mother's head, not even giving a second thought on how Elizabeth would react, not having any care for them. She turned from a frightened woman into a lifeless doll, blood dripped again down her cheekbones, torso falling forward, head falling back down in between her legs, the wound clearly visible to her daughter, returning to the position that she was in just moments ago.. Elizabeth just sat there, she didn't do anything, she didn't even try and fight back, she just stared at her mother, who loved and cared for her; she didn't even cry, no emotion could be seen on the teenagers face. She stared at her mothers head, it still was shedding out masses of blood. Was it shock? Maybe, but it wasn't shock-as much- that affected her, it was disappointment, not for her mother, but for the two men who were laughing at the corpse. She was disappointed by them, not because they ended a life, but because they possibly have made the worst decision of their life.

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Feel free to rate and review :) If you want to, I am not forcing you against your will. It is entirely up to you what you do. But feel free to rate and review :)


	18. Chapter 18

_**NOTE:**_I am so sorry! Two/Three days overdue, I feel as if I've let you down. I was suffering with the cold of death, I couldn't concentrate properly and I was getting eye strain from my computer. _**Feel free to review, If you want to. If you felt like the story should have gone a different route, don't be afraid to leave a comment.**_ Maybe once the story is finished, I'll write an alternative! Again, very sorry...

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Police cars and forensics arrived straight after the call was received, a suspected kidnap wasn't the type of criminal behaviour that happened around the area; the whole area was surrounded with worried neighbours, news teams, police cars, even Mycroft was there to view the whole situation. Sitting on the porch of the house, Sherlock stared up at his brother who was walking towards him in a vigorous manner. From what Sherlock could understand, Mycroft didn't arrive here because of what happened, he would have been here much later, he intended to be here for other business.

"What happened?!" said Mycroft, not really looking at the Consulting Detective but instead at the house, "Where is Elizabeth?"

"Look around Mycroft," Sherlock gestured with his arms behind him, "Do you need me to tell you what happened? Never mind, I'll tell you. I wake up to find that Elizabeth left a note saying she is going back home. I go after her and arrive to see the place like this," he took a pause, "And now I have 24 hours to find her or else she is dead."

"But who did this?!" Mycroft barged past Sherlock and walked into the house.

"Moriarty," Sherlock pointed towards the door which had 'JM' scratched into the panel, "I don't know how he survived, but right now I don't care about that. Where would he take her?!"

Bouncing up from where he sat, he stormed into the house; towards the kitchen, Mycroft followed behind. He spun his head around in quick motion, trying to find the smallest detail that could tell them where she was. Standing next to the fridge, John was holding his phone; attempting to phone Elizabeth's mobile and hoping she would answer it.

"I've been trying for an hour," said John as he put his phone back into his pocket, "Still nothing,"

All of the lights were destroyed. No light was visible, all of the curtains were closed. The darkness of the room blended in with Sherlock, it was as if his face was floating in mid-air. Every single table chair and ornaments were damaged, each piece scattered over the floor. Photo frames had been thrown off of where they once hung, besides kidnapping her, it also looked like they wanted to cause as much damage as possible. Memories were scattered all over the floor, broken.

"There was two," said Sherlock as he crouched down to the floor, hands placed on either side in front of him, his face close the glass covered tiles. A trail of blood was seen on Elizabeth's travel bag and the edge of the counter, still wet from the break-in.

"I'm sorry?" asked Lestrade as he walked in with the forensics team.

"Two. There was two people here, there wasn't just Elizabeth," he ran his hands over the tiles and the blood before standing back up again, "Someone else was taken with her,"

"How do you know?"

"The curtains,"

"The curtains?"

"OPEN YOUR EYES," Sherlock grabbed his phone and turned up the brightness, facing the screen towards everyone else, "This attack was sudden, neither of them expected it. Elizabeth was invited inside, few minutes later the door was broken down. Neither of them had time to sink in what just happened, it was too late. People came into the house and left it like this. Elizabeth's bag was placed next to the fridge, so she would have stood there. It must have been her mother who was stood-"

Running towards the garden door, he stopped and gestured at the curtains, "Here, this is where she was stood. When they dragged her away, the only thing she could grab onto was the curtains, hence why the curtains have been unhooked."

"So Mrs Colman was kidnapped with her?" asked Mycroft as he went and stood beside Sherlock. The look of nausea overfilled Mycroft as he thought of the fact that Moriarty-at that moment in time- had both his daughter and her mother hostage.

"Miss. She never married. There are no pictures in this house which could deny that. In fact, she never married at all." he grabbed onto Mycroft's shoulders tightly and stared firmly into his eyes, "Right now, the only thing I can think of is that they are probably held against their will, somewhere which is significant to you."

"I can't-"

"THINK MYCROFT!" he shoved Mycroft towards the wall and stormed away from him, towards Lestrade, "Name the most important places which have any significance to you or Mrs Colman-"

"There is the house we visited, in Oxford, we went there to visit an old acquaintance, that's all I can think of. Don't ask me anything else." and with that, Mycroft gathered himself and walked back outside and towards the black car which awaited him. It's been sixteen years since he even stepped foot in that house.

"Well that was a waste of time," said Lestrade, moving forward the forensic team who started on their work, each one nudging past Sherlock. The kitchen was smaller than 221B's living room, how cosy the room was unnoticeable when the dark dominated its warmth.

"A waste of time?" Sherlock made a somewhat sarcastic laugh, but it was also uncertain, as if he was forced against his will to laugh, "We know it's in Oxford, all we need to know is who does Mycroft know who just happens to live in Oxford,"

Straightening up his coat, Sherlock checked the time on his phone and headed towards the door, again leaving John like he usually does. Even though this case was higher than a 7, John couldn't quite understand why Sherlock was keeping more to himself. Usually, he would go on a five minute deduction on what actually happened, instead it took him just a minute. Checking the time, he realised that if he counted the hours that the kidnapping happened, they had 12 hours to find her. He wasn't really worried, that was plenty of time to find her. Waving towards Lestrade, he ran after Sherlock, just like he always does.

Reaching the front garden, Sherlock looked around him and all of the events occurring within it. Worried neighbours were being interviewed for what they knew; of course they didn't know anything, practically everyone in the United Kingdom would have been asleep. Journalists were already at the scene; he knew they were not there because of what happened, they were there because they wanted to talk to him. For three years, he hasn't been a part of something that was as exciting and frightening as this; not only was he trying to solve a case, he was trying to solve a case with his niece as the main victim. Running to his side, John stopped, clenched at his shirt and tried to catch his breath again.

"What do we do now?" asked John, looking at Mycroft who was entering his car. Knowing that John wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, Sherlock ran to the nearest police car and poked his head through the open window, John followed soon after. Sherlock shoved his hands closer to the wheel and felt around to try and find keys.

"Can you drive?"

"Me?" John held up his hands towards himself in defence, "No, Sherlock. I can't believe you're asking me that. I am not stealing police car for you!"

"We have to follow Mycroft," he ran to the other side of the car and climbed into it. He didn't know why he did it, but John climbed into the car with him. Turning the keys in a swift motion, he turned the car on and put it in drive. Many police officers didn't realise what was happening until Sherlock had drove out of the parking space that they were in and started to follow Mycroft's car that was driving full speed up the road. The loud screech of the tyres echoed down the cramped street as pedestrians ran for safety, smoke misted into the air from the exhaust fumes as it filled the lungs of uncaring journalists.

"I can't believe you just did that,"

"Desperate crimes calls for desperate measures. We need to follow Mycroft, judging by the speed of his car, we know he is heading towards exactly where Elizabeth is."

"But you stole a police car!" John ran his fingers through his hair, his elbow resting on the window sill, not really looking fully at the sociopath, "Worth five years of jail, this is."

"That I'll be taking," Sherlock was juggling calming John down and following the car in front, "I'll just tell them you were my-"

"Hostage?"

"Exactly," Smirking, he settled himself into the seat and focused fully on the road ahead. But the smirk soon dropped as he remembered why he stole the car in the first place: to find Elizabeth. He felt as if that note from Moriarty was just a lie, maybe she was already hurt by him and he was too late to protect her. Maybe she was already dead.


	19. Chapter 19

**This was really hard to write, considering that I hadn't planned the actual plot of this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, but not in a happy way. This isn't suppose to be happy, unless you're happy because I've updated it. Enjoy!**

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"Why do you need me?" her voice was barely a whisper, it had lost all its power. While continuing to pull at the ropes binding her hands together, she faced the floor, not daring to look at the man's eyes, "Really though, I'm not important, tell me why I'm here?"

Steps continued to echo in her ear. Easily, she could feel him smiling, the sense followed around her and the chair and it made her feel sick. Eventually, he reached to face the front of her and put his hands to her cheeks, violently pulling her up so he would meet her eyes.

"Elizabeth, I would tell you but then I would have to kill you," he moved aside and waved his hand at her lifeless mother, "just like Sebastian killed your mother. Actually!" he jumped around like an excited child. His grin sunk into her eyes as she was forced to look back and forth at her mother and possibly her murderer.

"We'll do something MUCH more exciting!" he was grinning at the man who was still stood in the same spot as he was, "Sebastian, get a chair."

The man moved into the shadows and returned with a similar chair and placed it in front of her. She started to panic, pulling much harder at the ropes, hoping to be released. Grabbing her mother by the shoulders, he dragged her off of the chair she once sat in and chucked her onto the new chair in front of Elizabeth, who was resisting to look at the corpse. In the new chair, her mother was moved back, sitting up straight so that her blooded face was burning a hole into Elizabeth's heart. Once finished moving her, Sebastian returned back into the shadows, leaving her, her kidnapper and her mother under the swinging light bulb. Not wanting to look at them both, she closed her eyes and locked them in place.

"I never got your name," she said.

"I'll tell you what," she could feel him take his hands off of her face and walk towards where her mother was sat, "If you open those eyes of yours, then I'll tell you."

Straining herself at first, she opened her left eye, then her right and was greeted by a smiling mad man and the blooded face of her mother, his hands grasping her shoulders back so that she was facing Elizabeth.

"Jim Moriarty," she finally got to look at the man, as she was forced to look at him against her will, "But call me Moriarty, everyone does,"

Wearing a black, clean cut suit with black, newly polished, leather shoes; his hair was firmly combed to his scalp, leaving it looking like silk which reflected the light of the room. Eyes of her mother and Moriarty piercing into her's ; she didn't notice that she was starting to cry in front of him.

"Just remember Elizabeth, this is your fault," he shoved her shoulders closer to Elizabeth, gesturing at her, "The reason your mother is dead is not because of me, it's because of you. She was shot in the back of the head because of you. The other women died because of you. If you hadn't gotten into so much trouble, she would still be alive."

"No."

"You know, she was actually thrilled to send you away, she wanted you to leave."

"NO! NO! NO!"She finally let herself go, and started to uncontrollably cry in front of Moriarty, Sebastian and anyone else who might be there. Tears stinging her eyes, never not pulling at her restraint hands, her lips trembling hastily.

"I've wanted to use you as my own good when I found out you existed. You're the perfect weapon, better than a sniper, not sure Sebastian would agree. I had to find a way to get you, and what better way to finally get you if I hurt a couple of people along the way."

"So it was like sending a message, to who?"

"Sherlock of course."

Understanding the situation, she had a feeling that whatever happens to her is because of Sherlock, and this feud he has with Moriarty. Being in the middle of this battle is not what she wanted, all she wanted was for life to go back to the night she was stabbed, going back meant she could stop it all from happening. If she could change it, then everything would be different, she would do well at school, have a social life, have a future. Now, it all seemed pointless to her; her mother was dead, her house was probably destroyed and nobody knows she is there, nobody is bothering to look for her.

The thoughts-in an odd way-straightened herself up, she stopped crying out loud and calmed herself. If nobody was going to come for her, then she would have to get herself out of this mess. Out of nowhere, under the circumstances, she started to laugh; it wasn't a calm laugh, it was more hysterical than calm.

"What's so funny?" asked Moriarty, for the first time sounding uneasy.

"You always had a chance to kill Sherlock," she still kept pulling at the ropes, her laugh slowly coming to a stop, "It's your own fault that you haven't got the job done. You're using my mother as torture weapon? That's a bit weak isn't it? A man of supposed power is using an adolescent girl as bait? First, Sherlock knows never to put family first when it comes to you, he isn't stupid you know."

"But that's the thing though. Yeah, he's not the one to care for family, but you're different,"

"Different?"

"He's changed you know," he finally let go of her mother and circled around Elizabeth, "Those three years has made him soft. You've made him soft. This is the perfect chance to get at him."

"If I changed him for the better, then he would be here."

"Who said it was for the better?"

Unexpectedly, Sebastian came back out from the shadows and stopped Moriarty in his steps. She couldn't hear what he was whispering to Moriarty, but when they finished, Sebastian left his side and stood in front of her.

"Sebastian's told me the Ice Man is travelling towards here, it turns out they are after you. Isn't that sweet? That, unfortunately is my cue to exit."

"Wait, Ice Man? Exit?"

"This was merely a message for Sherlock, just to say that I'm not happy that he didn't keep his promise when he should of. He hasn't seen the last of me, not yet,"

"What promise?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Sherlock had to commit suicide or all of the people he ever cared for would die, so this is payback. Don't worry, you won't be on your own, Sebastian will be here to watch you, when he hears them police sirens, he is ordered to finish the job. It's been an honour to meet you Elizabeth, you have been proven very useful to me."

"Wait, what do you mean finish the job?"

He didn't answer question, he just smirked at the vulnerable girl in front of him, he scanned his eyes over her before wiping his hands on his expensive suit and walked towards the shadows.

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE!" she shouted, but he didn't stop, and before she knew it, he disappeared, leaving Sebastian and her alone in the spotlight. She started to panic, what was going to happen to her? The man still held his gun in his left hand, not looking away from her.

Both stayed exactly where they were, staring at each other, who knows for how many minutes, maybe hours. As she started to drift into sleep, she felt the grip on her wrists ease as the pressure was released, the ropes had let go of her. She was free. She could escape.

Without planning her attack, she lunged from her chair and onto the armed man who quickly shot into action, however, they both fell to the floor. She grabbed hold of the weapon and attempted to snatch it off him, unfortunately he was strong enough to push Elizabeth to the side, so that they both swapped positions. Each fought for their own accord, clinging onto the weapon as if it were their lives, Sebastian maybe stronger than her, but she wasn't going to give up that easily. It seemed like they were the only people there, no one was there to help her, no one was there to help him.

The gun was moving around aimlessly towards both of them, either one was at the disadvantaged. It was impossible for someone to fire the gun and for the other to be safe. A shot was sounded in the echoed room, followed by a ghastly cry of pain. Both froze. Both lay still.


	20. Chapter 20

The house stood isolated in the middle of an old, abandoned field. Even if the architecture of the building was finely designed by the greatest, it was left to rot, nobody had lived in that house for more than 13 years. A long bricked path led its way up towards the front; weeds showed through the cracks and linked with others, turning the used to be grey path into a green jungle. Any visible glass was boarded up with thick wooden panels which cut out the sunlight; the doors were worn out of their colour. Cracks dominated the fragile foundation that supported the walls, its paint peeling off to show its grey colour. A large, single fountain stood in the front drive; you would expect fresh waters pouring out of every pipe visible, but now the water had stop flowing, it was now filled with water and ancient mould that the years had grown. Everything was silent for 14 years, not a soul would visit its weakened image, not even a bird would be seen over the grounds. Everything was silent until today. Two cars sped up its driveway, the screeches of the tyres waking up every inch of the house.

One car was black and recently polished; the other car was of police property. Both in a rush to get to the house, now and then slowing down from the fear of crashing into the other car. When they reached the house, they violently swirled around the fountain and brought their cars to a sudden halt.

"You have to let me do this Sherlock!" shouted Mycroft as he left the black car, for once without the help of someone opening it for them.

"You have nothing to do with this Mycroft!" said Sherlock as both him and John left the stolen police car, each brother aggressively walking towards each other, meeting at the main door.

"I have every right to be involved in this. It's my fault she's in there, if I just let he stay with you, she wouldn't be here."

As both men argued as to who would save her, it was John who noticed a black car. However, it wasn't Mycroft's car that he saw, it was another one. Instead, it was miles away from the house and parked in the middle of the field, exhaust fumes escaping from the back. Next to the car, he saw a figure stood beside it. From where John stood, he could point out that he was wearing a black, formal suit which matched the colour of his hair. Even though he couldn't see the man's features, he knew exactly who he was.

"Sherlock!" John nudged Sherlock's elbow with his own, "Is that?-"

Now, all three men were looking at the figure who stood staring at them. Mycroft was just about to march over to the man before he was held back by his brother. Turning around, he shot daggers towards Sherlock and John; his brother still held onto his upper arm, keeping him in place.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft asked, but his question was ignored with another one.

"What is he doing there?" Sherlock never took his eyes off the far away man, his grip on Mycroft only getting tighter. So the note was true, Moriarty was alive all along, living and breathing perfectly well. That means Moriarty knows about the whole fake suicide business, Sherlock never kept his promise, "Why wouldn't he be inside? Why isn't he confronting us?"

"Maybe it's a trick?" Mycroft finally released himself from Sherlock's grip.

"Do we risk it?"

Just as he asked that question, Moriarty turned his back on the house and entered the black car without shouting a single word to them. The door slammed shut, it's noise echoed in the open greenery. After a while, the car exhaust could be heard and without any explanation, the car started to move forward full speed and-unexpectedly-started to move away from the house.

"Where is he going?" Mycroft's voice only grew more angry, "Where is Elizabeth?"

What Mycroft said made all three of them turn their heads to look up at the house. If she wasn't in the car with Moriarty, it could only mean that she was inside, hurt or worse. Running to the police car, Sherlock fetched two guns found in the boot of the car, came back and handed one to Mycroft who only held his umbrella, which would be useless for this situation. John reached to his back pocket for his loaded gun and held it towards the front door; he was the first to open the door, trying to not make too much sounds in case someone else was there with her, Sherlock and Mycroft following behind and watching behind their backs.

Once they were all inside, they gazed their eyes around the ground floor, looking for any signs of whereabouts in the house she might be. In front of them was a large, wooden staircase which led to the first floor. Archways stood beside them, one entered the living room, the other led to the dining room. Furniture-surprisingly- was left behind, covered with white covers and layers of dust. Wallpaper that used to be a light shade of cream had now turned into crisp, flaking sheets of grey.

For a split second, a loud sound of a shotgun being fired vibrated its way through the house, causing the chandeliers in each room to shake off specks of dust. Without thinking of their safety, all three charged up the staircase and followed where the noise came from. Sherlock was the first to reach the top; he looked to his left and right for where the noise might have came from. So going on his gut instinct, he turned left and ran down the hallway, not caring about what Mycroft was shouting at him.

Everything was slow to Sherlock, as he ran down the hall, surprised that he wasn't losing his balance. The end of the passage seemed to get furthur and furthur away, just when he thought he would reach it. The voices that could be heard from in the house could not be heard by Sherlock, his eardrums were throbbing, his pulse quickened, breathing grew heavier.

At the end of the hallway, a door was seen open, opposite to the others. When Sherlock reached the open door, he entered without checking and stared-shocked-at what he saw. Wouldn't even move or speak, he just stood there and stared at the middle of the room. Seconds later, he was joined by John and Mycroft, who stared at what Sherlock saw. Mycroft took one look at the room before running inside, dropping his gun to the ground. In the room, right in the middle of the dimly lit room, lay three figures. One had a gunshot wound to the back of their head, seemly dry blood still visible in her hair, limbs oddly out of shape; spread on the floor. Sherlock could easily recognise her as Elizabeth's mother.

The other two were tangled together, looking as if they both had fought for their lives. A large body of a man lay onto of someone smaller. It wasn't until all three moved closer to the bodies when they noticed a large pool of blood form around the tangled bodies.

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**Fellow readers, sorry that I haven't updated in ages, I have-however- conjured up a new idea for a crossover between Sherlock and ?. I might upload it this month, or NEXT month. Never next year, I mean I'm not Steven Moffat after all.**

**I feel like I screwed up the ending, that I could of made it more dramatic. Be honest and tell me if you were disappointed or not with the ending. **

**Only two more chapters left!**


	21. Chapter 21

The first thing Elizabeth's eyes gazed upon once regaining consciousness was the blinding white light above her. Usually this meant that she was either dying or is already dead, but when her vision started to become clear, the light that shone came from the ceiling above her. Instead of being at death's door, she was in a room, not Sherlock's bedroom or her own. In fact, she was in a hospital room, getting suffocated by the how tight the blanket was tucked around her. When she tried to get up to get a sense of where everyone was, she fell back down onto the softness of the pillow; she reached a hand up towards her head, a headache suddenly appeared, causing her to scream out in agony.

The last thing she remembered was being held down by that man that was with her, they were fighting over a gun. After that, the other part of the story was just a blur, when she tried to think really hard about what happened, her head only strained more; again she called out for help. Starting to panic, she tried to grab the handles on the side of the bed, only to fall back down with much greater force than before.

When she realised that moving out of the bed was impossible, she buried her hands into her face; reflecting on what has happened to her in just 24 hours, water droplets fell down her cheeks as she tried to hold back the sobs that forced its way up her throat. Gathering herself together, wiping the tears from her eyes, she decided to call out for someone, as she suddenly became very thirsty.

"Someone? Anyone?" the first word was more like a choke than words, "Help? Please!?"

Straight away, the doors in front of her opened and stepping inside the room was none other than Sherlock. Never did she think that there was a way of seeing him again after she wrote goodbye to him.

"Sh- Sherlock?" she said, reaching out a hand towards him, hoping for him to return the gesture. Instead, he closed the door behind him and sat down on the open chair that sat next to her bed, continuously staring at her without saying a word.

"Wha- What happened?" she gazed around the room, wondering why she here and not fighting over a gun, "Where's Mo- Moriarty? Where's John?"

"John left to get your belongings from your old house an hour ago, before the police take it away as evidence. I said that it could wait, but he said it couldn't. As for Moriarty, who know? But that doesn't matter now,"

"Really? You've just found out that your archenemy is somehow back from the dead and all that you can say is that it doesn't matter?"

"He's probably thinking the same thing. You think he's finished this whole game of his?" Sherlock asked, receiving a shrug from Elizabeth, "No, he hasn't. I don't know why he fled in the car, but we'll find out eventually. For now-"

Getting up from the seat, Sherlock walked over the water bottle that sat further away from Elizabeth's reach and picked it up; then passing it over to her, "-you need to rest. I'll be outside if you need me."

"Wait Sherlock!" he stopped and turned to face her, "You're not going anywhere! Sit back down!"

Without hesitating, he sat back down, knowing what questions were about to be thrown at him. Shuffling in his chair, he got comfortable and looked her straight in the eye.

"Right, you're not going anywhere till you answer my questions. You owe me that, first why am I in a hospital?"

"You didn't get shot, but your head was constantly slammed into the floor that in caused concussion. Next question,"

"Is Sebastian dead?"

"Yes, you want to know how?"

"I know how. I'm not that stupid," she turned her head to look at somewhere other than Sherlock, "I shot him, didn't I? You don't have to answer, I know I did, kind of lucky that I did or else I'd be dead. Next question and I want you to answer truthfully: What happens to me now?"

At the end of that question, the door opened and entered Mycroft, looking completely casual and just like Elizabeth last saw him. Looking into his eyes, Elizabeth tried to find any sense of emotion that could change the way she thought of him. Surprisingly, she could see sadness-for once-in his eyes.

"Sherlock, you can leave now," For once, he didn't argue with his brother and left the room, closing the door shut firmly behind him, leaving father and daughter to sat silent towards each other, until Elizabeth spoke out.

"What are you doing here Mycroft?"

"I wanted to apologize for my behaviour towards you. I haven't acted like the father I'm supposed to be, it's just hard to think about me actually looking after you without you getting hurt. My job is a dangerous job, and considering what has just happened today, it makes matters worse. Please Elizabeth, forgive me,"

"I don't know if I can...Dad," she looked away again as she did with Sherlock, "I mean, Sherlock's accepted me more and considering what I've heard from his history, his job is more dangerous than yours,"

"We're both in dangerous situations, you have to understand why I sent you back to live with your mother."

"And look how that turned out," remembering what happened to her mother, she started to cry, not caring to look brave for him anymore. All of the pain of the last month smothered her, "My mother's dead. You once loved her, what happened?"

"We change Elizabeth, just like everyone else. You're right, I did love her once. I still do, that's why I need you to forgive me and let me look after you. I can take care of you,"

"So if I forgive you, you take care of me and let me live with you, wherever you live?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Well maybe I don't want that, maybe I want to be in a place where people actually see me as who I am, not a dangerous target like you do,"

"Wait," getting up from his chair, he paced up and down the room; his hands firmly gripping the handle of his umbrella, "I asked you to forgive me, are you saying no?! Then where is this place you want to go then, hmm?"

"Dad," she grabbed hold of his arm to stop him from walking and look into her eyes, "Even though you might have been the biggest bastard of the month, you're still my dad, nothing will change that. But I don't want to live with you, and I know you don't want me around. I know that you'll try to take care of me and I appreciate that, I just don't want to be a nuisance. I'll live somewhere else, I just hope they say yes, that's all."

"Where Elizabeth?" he sat back down and took her hands in his, "I will look after you, just tell me where you want to be?"

"With Sherlock and John, in 221B. I know they'll probably see me as a nuisance also, but their more understanding. Yes, I know your job is very risky, being the British government rolled into one single person. That's why I want to live there, John seems to like me, especially when I help around the house. I think Sherlock appreciates my little deductions at crime scenes, haven't got anything wrong so far. Mrs Hudson likes when I visit her and help her with cooking and listen to her problems. Somehow I feel like I belong there, I just hope that they agree with me."

Both stayed silent for a moment just staring at each other with sadness, their father-daughter relationship was at a downhill and both of them were free to admit it. It was Mycroft who first made a move. Raising from the chair, he bent down and gently kissed Elizabeth's forehead. He took one last look at her before turning away from the bed and towards the door. When he reached it, he turned his head to face her again.

"I'm so sorry, for everything." Was all he said before he opened the door and left her alone again, in silence.

At least she was honest, she thought. It was safe to say that her family wasn't normal, but she liked it that way. It would take a couple of weeks until she forgave her father, but in the meantime, all she had to do was take life as it was. So many things worried her future: how will she get into a college, get a career, start a new life, live life knowing that the man who kidnapped her is out there in the shadows, waiting to pounce at the right moment.

"All in good time," she said, before falling back to sleep.

* * *

It was late at night in the hospital ward. Patients were asleep and nurses dozed off while sat down at their computers. Outside of Elizabeth's room, Sherlock and John sat next to each other, both being the only ones guarding the door in case something happens to her again. Cups of coffee and tea warmed up their hands as they continued to talk about Mycroft's offer.

"Are you going to say yes?" said John, after taking a sip of tea, "You know having her around might be dangerous. I don't have anything against it, by the way."

"Of course I'm going to say yes. If that is what she wants then who's to say no? It'll be tough at first but after a while, it shouldn't be a problem,"

"Well what about this whole 'Moriarty coming back to life' business?"

"We know he's alive, so we should just continue with our lives but be a bit more cautious than we usually were and that means carrying a gun around with you 24/7. Shouldn't be too hard, I suppose."

"I guess you're right."

"Oh, and John?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about the whole-"

"Stop saying you're sorry!" John gently nudged Sherlock's shoulder with his own, not intending it to be in a negative sort of way, "I know you're sorry and I forgive you, like I've already said. What you did was stupid, but you had your reasons and I forgive you for that. So we should just return to our normal lives, in addition with a hormonal teenager on our backs. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Leaning back in their chairs, they sighed and soon after, started to close their eyes shut from the warmth of the room and the warmth of their drinks. Each one smiled happily, knowing that cases would continue, experiments would continue and normal life would start again, but it was like Sherlock said: When have they ever had normal life?

However, once they finally settled down to sleep, something at the end of the corridor woke them up. Instantly, John reached to grab his gun without thinking and Sherlock jumped out of their seat. No one could be seen at the end of the hallway, but what could be seen was an item rolling fast towards them. From afar, it looked like an oddly shaped ball but as it came closer, they could identify it as an apple. The apple brought back memories back to Sherlock, when Moriarty carved those letters into it, just after his trial.

It started to slow down, but not slow enough, so stopping it with his shoe, Sherlock picked up the apple and stared at it intensively. Letters were also carved into the apple he held, but instead of three letters like last time, words formed. As Sherlock turned the apple around, he got the full message the was deeply carved into the crimson red peel and smiled. Two words were formed, not just to Sherlock, but to everyone he had caused great pain to over the years. It wasn't over, their little game had only just begun. The apple read:

_The End?_

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**READ THIS or skip if you want to :)**

**Okay, that was the last chapter, but there will be another chapter which is in a different writing style to what I've been doing in these last chapters. It's up to you If you want to read it, if you don't want to then continue with life but if you do then the next chapter should be up next week.**

**I have had an amazing time writing this, considering it's my first story. Thank you so much to all the people who have followed/favourite or reviewed this story. It's because of you that makes me smile when I look at all my email notifications :)**


	22. Chapter 22

The Unwanted Holmes

I know people have been waiting for me to put up a post, it's obvious everyone knows about what's happened over the last month and if not, then let me keep you updated. It's been three years since Sherlock jumped off the roof of St. Barts and since then, my life hasn't been going anywhere. Yeah, I met a couple of people along the way, one of them being Mary Morstan. We got to know each other, but I never forgot about him. Over the first two years, she wasn't happy anymore; I wasn't happy anyway. After a while, we both admitted that we shouldn't see each other anymore, and that is exactly what we did. I haven't heard a word from her since.

After that, life returned to how it was before I met her. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I wished that she was still with me; life with her was much more easier than it was after. However, I tried to contact her but she refused to answer, so I gave up.

Mrs Hudson was very supportive of me through the three years, even if I didn't ask for her help she would still check on me and ask if I was alright. Every Sunday, us both would go to his grave; out of all of my friends, she was more willing to go.

On the 21st July of this year, I woke up to a violin being played downstairs in my living room. I was frightened because only one person played a violin in the flat. I grabbed my gun and went to see what it was, but when the music stopped, I hurried downstairs and into the living room where I saw the man that died three years ago in front of me. Sherlock Holmes is alive.

Of course I was angry, who wouldn't be? First thing I did was punch him in the face(he forgave me later on), just to show him how much I had suffer. We continued to argue about where he was and why he didn't come back sooner until we heard footsteps from outside. Lestrade and the rest of the team were standing were standing at the doorway, and if you haven't guessed it, they weren't pleased either. None of us admitted it at the time, but we were thrilled to have him back.

The next day, the news of his return got around quickly; in the morning, our house was surrounded with news teams, journalists and the public, so we decided to not leave the house unless it was necessary. It was around midday when we heard a knock at our door. Journalists did knock at our door, but this time it was continuous and wasn't at a point of stopping. We both argued about who would open the door, in the end I was the one who went downstairs to open it. And when I did open the door, I wasn't met by an impatient journalist, but a teenager who looked very familiar.

She was drenched from the rain and when she asked to see Sherlock, I couldn't say no. When I said she looked familiar, she sounded familiar also. When she asked about my leg, I told her I was shot but I didn't say where. She asked if I was shot in Afghanistan, just like Sherlock asked if it was Afghanistan or Iraq. I asked her how she knew and she said it was research, so I just left it there.

When we reached the living room, one of Sherlock's experiments lost control so I decided to stop it, ignoring the complaints from Sherlock. When Sherlock sat down, he stared at the girl and asked to introduce us. I couldn't so I asked her myself who she was, and these were her exact words:

"My name is Elizabeth Colman and I am the daughter of Mycroft Hol-"

She stopped there because she passed out from the fumes coming from the experiment. Both of us moved her into Sherlock's room, where we talked about what just happened. If she was right, that meant Sherlock was an uncle; that wasn't what surprised me, it was who the father was which surprised me.

Sherlock said he heard of her name before and that she could be telling the truth. It was then that I was called to go into work, so I left her and Sherlock alone. It wasn't until later on that Sherlock texted me saying he wasn't at the flat, so we rushed back and headed upstairs until we heard a violin being played. It turns out that she was extremely talented at playing the violin and later on at night, we learnt she had a talent for deducing crime scenes.

So over the weeks, we continued to work on the serial murders that have happened over the years. We weren't going anywhere with it, we only knew that the murderer was a man. At times I tried to confront Sherlock about what he did three years ago, but it would never work, we still refused to talk to each other unless it was necessary. It was near the end of August when I came home from work late at night to find Sherlock shooting holes in the walls. Apparently, Elizabeth left a note saying she was going back to Cambridge and was to never see us again. In the note, she also said she lived a life with people not wanting her, that she didn't want me or Sherlock to be part of the list.

Sherlock and I both agreed to travel up to Cambridge with Lestrade and bring her back to prove what she said wasn't true. When we got there, we saw that Elizabeth's was actually along with her mother. The kidnapper left a note on the door, it was at that moment when Sherlock realised that having Elizabeth stay with him would pay at a price. Moriarty was the one who left the note, the man who we thought was dead three years ago-like Sherlock- was still alive. Sherlock's brother arrived at the crime scene, not having any idea of what was happening. We had a look around until Mycroft gave us an idea of where she might be.

So all three of us ran out the house, Sherlock's brother got into his car while Sherlock-being a strange child- decided to steal a police car. I wasn't going to mess around with what he was doing, so I went into the car with him. He must have known the police would follow him when he took the car, so they could follow us to where she was.

We reached an old- but fairly enormous- house with seemed to be abandoned in Oxford. All three of us got out of our cars and argued about who was going to "save" her. I noticed someone in the fields looking at us, so I told Sherlock and asked him if that was Moriarty; it was. He just stood there, he wasn't in the house which was puzzling. After a good minute, Moriarty entered his car and started to drive away. At first we thought Elizabeth was with him, but then we had a feeling that she was in the house on her own, so we entered the house and looked for her.

Upstairs, we heard the sound of a gun being shot, so we all ran upstairs-Sherlock being first- and headed for the room furthest in the corridor. When Sherlock reached it, he stopped in his tracks and just stared at the room without talking or moving; he just stood there. It wasn't until me and Sherlock's brother stood next to him that we saw what looked like a battlefield. A woman(Elizabeth's mother) was shot in the head and appeared lifeless further away while two bodies lay together with blood appearing on the floor.

Sherlock ran towards the bodies and pushed the taller man of the person on the bottom. Elizabeth was unconscious on the ground when Sherlock got to her. I focused on her health while Elizabeth's father went to check on the woman next to Elizabeth. Luckily the blood wasn't from Elizabeth, as she had shot the man attacking her in the heart. After raising her head, I saw she had a head wound which looked like it was formed because it was slammed against the ground. We could hear the police cars which were tracking us park in the driveway, luckily followed by an ambulance.

It was Sherlock who picked Elizabeth up off the ground. I was surprised he could do it, considering he was skinnier than most people, but somehow he managed. I followed him, but I stopped to look at Sherlock's brother with Elizabeth's mother. For the very first time, I saw him cry. Usually that would shock me, but when I understood what them two used to be, I felt sorry for him and left him alone. Sherlock ignored Lestrade calling him about what happened, he ignored the paramedics trying to grab Elizabeth off him. He took his time walking down the stairs with her and when he reached outside, he put her into the ambulance and went inside with her; he convinced the paramedics to take me also, so all three of us left in the ambulance, with Sherlock's brother still in the house.

Once she was settled in a hospital room, I went back to Cambridge to collect all of her things, fortunately they weren't taken away as evidence so-with Lestrade's help- I took them with me back to London.

When I returned to the hospital after dropping her things back at the flat, I saw in the corridor Sherlock and his brother in deep conversation. When they saw me, Sherlock's brother excluded himself and left us alone. I asked Sherlock what happened, since he looked sad and happy at the same time; he said that Elizabeth was going to move in with us because she didn't want to live with her father. I was happy enough to accept her, so I was able to accept her moving in.

Three days later, Elizabeth was allowed to leave, so when she was ready, we all left in a cab to return to Baker Street. Sherlock's brother was kind enough to enrol Elizabeth into a local college(can't say how because of the Official Secrets Act)and paid for her to stay. After a month, things returned to normal. I forgave Sherlock and Elizabeth forgave her father.

Elizabeth wasn't average, I knew that straight away when I first saw her on the doorsteps of 221B. She had amazing talents that could easily match to Sherlock's. It was a shame how life had been so cruel to her. She faced bullies. She faced journalists. She faced scars. She faced Anderson. She faced her mother's death. She even faced the first and second most dangerous men in Britain and fought against them both, not giving into them and successfully defeating one of them. She faced her father's refusal towards her and held back the tears as best as she could. She faced life. When I said she looked familiar when I first saw her, I meant it. She had Sherlock's eyes and mouth; his skills and talents.

I always thought caring wasn't Sherlock's understanding, that it was one of those things that he erases from his mind. Elizabeth was the one who changed that idea for me. I have never seen Sherlock so caring or protective of anyone else, when Elizabeth appeared, he protected her as if she was Sherlock's Mind Palace. He showed more care than her actual father. I don't think it was those three years that changed him. It was Elizabeth. She changed him for the better. She made him forgiving. She gave Sherlock a responsibility. To me, Elizabeth is the girl who made him care.

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**I have never cried so much at the ending of a story, considering I wrote it. I'm just sad that it's over. Thank you to everyone who has ever clicked the story link, gave me advice, gave me positive comments, added it as a favourite or followed it. I don't own any of this, If I did then this story would be an actual episode.**

**Thank you for reading :')**


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